Darkest Before Dawn
by PhantomProducer
Summary: The calm before the storm has ended. The edges of war have crossed the universe, intent on destroying it and molding it into a new image. In the darkness before the dawn, heroes must rise and face the threat of the end, not only for themselves, but for the world, and those they love. AU from "Age of Ultron" on. Part five of the "Of Time" series. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I apologize for putting the author's note at the beginning of the chapter. HOWEVER, I have to put one up to warn newcomers that this is a continuation—the fifth installment, truth be told—of a series I have been calling the _Of Time_ series. They are stories in the Captain America/Avengers sections of movies on FF (and can be found in the My Stories tab on my profile page). Because it is a continuation, I have to warn you also that the character of Holly Rogers (née Martin) and her actions and interactions in this story, as well additional original characters, are not going to make any sense if you haven't read the previous installments. Therefore, I am going to suggest you read them, as this is AU from the MCU continuity—from near the end of _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ on—and I have made a few changes that may catch you by surprise later on in the text. I know, it's a lot to ask you to read four additional stories before this one, but I don't want you to get too lost.

And along with that, this will definitely be AU from the continuity of the films and the connected television series (plural), as _Avengers: Infinity Wars_ and its subsequent sequel will not even be in theaters until 2018, to start with. So, to anybody reading this, know that:  
-It will not match perfectly to all that has come before, or what will come after, in the MCU.  
-Some things have been altered intentionally in this storyline.  
-I am doing my best to keep all characters I write as in-character as possible, despite the changes made.

That being said, allow me to throw in one more disclaimer before we get started: I don't own anything from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Honestly, nothing. I also don't own any other pop culture references made in the text, either.

I believe that covers everything. Now, if you're ready to read, please continue...

* * *

Fire. It burned, it cleansed, it wiped away all in its path, removing what was and replacing it with ash. Slowly, methodically, it would catch and bloom, renewing the process every few moments, another spark of light blazing in the darkness. The city was aflame, scorched and devoid of any life upon it. In the plumes of smoke and ash, a small starcraft descended. It was rusty and barely held together, but had survived its push to the planet. The pilot, all dark eyes and clicking fingers, eyed her scanners, scrubbing once at the framework around her left eye before tapping at the holopads before her, thrusters prepped and ready for the next command.

Over the last three cycles, she had seen its like across the galaxies, the carnage and terror left behind spoken of in hushed whispers in fleet bars and back alleys of those that were spared. Her personal journey had led her to this place, her latest clues a leads followed after she'd returned to a place she'd once called home, the desolate rock and stone devoid of all. The only thing left was the throne, the seat cold and the carvings meaningless. Undeterred, she went on, determined that it would only be a matter of time before she found the right lead, the right path that would bring her the ultimate satisfaction she craved.

This latest lead, though, had cut her to the core, as she knew exactly who the carnage had been intended for.

The Collector, after all, had found too much, and had seen too much, to escape the notice of those with great power. And if the rumors were true, someone had come to collect from him. The same someone who had burned and destroyed another settlement less than a jump away.

Knowhere had been leveled, broken nearly into nothingness. Few survivors had managed to escape, but she was grateful for those who had. Else, she would not have known to go there.

The lone traveler circling the ashen city tapped at the console of her craft, readying it for landing. After a few minutes of searching, the landing gear touched the ground, a cleared patch at the center of the chaos serving her needs. Donning a cloak atop her suit and gear, she stepped out as the hatch opened, wide eyes scanning the terrain. Something deep within twisted at the destruction; homes were torn asunder, blaster marks peppering the sides where flames did not touch, smoke in the atmosphere and rising higher. Ashes rained down, dotting her clothes and freckling her exposed blue skin as she began to walk. The smell, a horrifying combination of burning flesh, choking smoke, and death, caught in her throat, and she had to take a few moments to attempt to adjust to it. The carnage ringing her made her grimace; it did not look as though much of a fight was had there, as if the citizens were taken by surprise. Likely they were, like the last settlement was. Forcing her gaze away from them, she stalked between buildings, breaking into a jog to the point of interest. The one she knew would draw the attention of the attacks.

The towering, spherical top (bearing the marks of expansion and rebuilding in some places) flamed still, smoldering as the sun for the planet began to set. Undeterred, she went to the door, half-opened still and bent as if shoved in with great force. Over the threshold she went, and she found herself blinking. Drawing her hood back, she registered the heat of the remaining flames, but she could not tear her eyes away. The Collector's home, the very shelter he created for all the beings and things of the universe he had taken for his own, were gone. Remnants of cages and compartments stood still, twisted and melted brackets falling from walls and standing jagged from perches in the floor. Her blue skin nearly crawled as she strode forward, pieces of bodies and artifacts no more than unidentifiable lumps. Eyes focused, contracted, sheathed fingers reaching out and touching one broken case. The heat from it bled through, and she let go soon afterward. In the center of the room, rancid smoke and acrid burning emanated, and she blinked against it. Near the bottom of the stack, a set of goggles were broken and nearly melted. Something within her knew those were the Collector's, that he had not survived the encounter. Rage filled her gut as she glanced around the room again, knowing she had been too late to catch the attacker. Yet again, she had been too late, and it ate at her, ground her down as she gritted her teeth.

A gleam of silver caught her eye, and she turned toward it, questions blooming in her mind as she stepped away from the ashes. The gleam of a handle beneath the burns drew her attention and she crossed quickly to grab it. Wrenching it back, she shoved it open, revealing the tiny room's contents. Screens and holopads littered the walls and the wide desk, data streams and holographic keyboards in place. Sitting down in the single, uncomfortable chair, she tapped quickly at the keys, breaking past the walls and codes to access the information in the system. There was not much left upon it, but she was able to recover a decent amount.

Tapping quickly, she easily accessed the security feeds from earlier and dialed them back to when the attack had reached the conservatory. Sitting back in her seat, she stared as she began the sequence, watching as the Collector pivoted on his heel. The outer doors had sprung open and he squared his shoulders, one palm along the holster at his hip. As the dust settled and the flood of armored warriors stormed in (a mix of enhanced Chitauri and even some defecting Kree, she noted with no real amusement), he let his hand drop, goggles pushed up and his sweeping coat of white and brown furs floating as he stepped forward.

" _Lord Thanos_ ," he greeted the shadow in the door, an elaborate bow made as the shadow stepped forward. She barely blinked at his mode of address; the creature he greeted, a Titan of the moon of Saturn, had been alive for so long. It was unsurprising that he would know of him. Golden armor liberally decorated the creature's body, the thick suit beneath it just as strong. He towered over them all, the glow of the fires outside outlining the deep grooves set into the purple skin peeking out. The helmet cut down and around his jaw, the massive figure inspiring awe and fear—of that, she was all too aware, an old ache in her gut sparking briefly before she shoved it away.

He'd always sparked that in her, that Titan she had called father once.

Focusing on the screen, she watched as the jaw of the colossus, the Titan, twitched. His red eyes were drawn to the smaller being in the center of the room, and narrowed accordingly. The distant screams and shouts of the people of Knowhere echoed in the background, but neither the Titan nor the Collector paid them any mind. The smaller creature ran his hands along the lapels of his coat, his head tipping to one side as he stared on Thanos.

" _Word across the cosmos was that you have been on quest, though rampage would more accurate, would it not?_ "

Discontent grumbles filtered around him, the warriors gripping their blasters and rifles as the strange fellow dared to stand up to their leader. For his part, Thanos merely stepped forward, the light reflecting sharply off him. The female watching the recorded encounter took in a sharp breath, fury and sorrow warring with the hatred she carried for him.

"Y _ou know what I have come for, Collector,_ " Thanos imparted to the Collector, raising a hand into the air. A golden, plated gauntlet rested there, snug on his fingers and gleaming in the light. The settings upon the knuckles were empty, as they were the last time she had seen it; the feeling in her gut sharpened, knowing full well why he had arrived, too. The past Thanos leaned forward, glaring down at the white-haired being before him. " _I will not leave without it._ "

For a moment, it looked as though the Collector would have refused him, but when faced with the towering, purple wall of strength before him—as well as the ring of warriors waiting to do his bidding—he did not hold onto the gumption for long. Flicking his gaze down, he turned, tapping a panel atop the nearby table. The center panels of it slid away, a case rising from within it. Electrobeams held the treasure in place, the fluid red aether swirling and forming into a large, crimson stone. When it stopped rising, the Collector went to tap another button on the digital pad, but Thanos stopped him. Instead, he slid his gauntleted hand past the security beams, the reinforced armor protecting him as he guided it directly beneath the stone. Carefully, he raised it, allowing it to be seated in one of the settings. The stone took to its new home, the sinister aether around it dissipating as he withdrew it from the case. He raised it, proudly, into the light, a smirk playing along his mouth.

The Collector's eyes had widened in awe, but that had not stopped him from furrowing his brow.

" _As great as you are, what makes you think you can wield it?_ " he asked the Titan, lines cutting deeper into his skin. Thanos flicked his gaze to him swiftly, his jaw tightening slightly.

" _That is not your concern_ ," the Titan stated, his tone purposefully demeaning. She thought, even with the quality of the recording, she could see the glimmer of pleasure in his irises, the red of the stone perfectly matching. However, his gaze was drawn back to the binding case, a frown crossing his lips. " _Where are the others? I was informed that the second had been returned here._ "

The Collector snorted hard at that, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

" _Your information is incorrect,_ " he told him, an eyebrow spiking and all but calling the Titan out on the issue. He had to have known that would not be the case, not after the entire debacle with Ronan. The creases in the smaller creature's face deepened, and a slight tremor racked his body. The female watching the recorded feed realized that he knew exactly what the purpose of bringing up the second stone was: punishment. Thanos was going to punish him for letting it out of his grasp, and he knew it. The placidity of the fellow's demeanor melted away, something close to scorn in it as he faced the Titan fully. " _The rest are scattered. As they should be. You are all but ensuring your ruin if you continue your search._ "

His warning was left hanging in the air for some time, the camera lens contracting and widening as Thanos continued to look away from him, over his head. Inhaling deeply, the Titan rolled his shoulders back, the gauntlet clenched into a fist at his side.

" _And, once more, that is not your concern_ ," he retorted softly. " _Nothing shall concern you anymore._ "

Thanos raised a hand, the one lacking the gauntlet, and swirled a finger. All at once, the gathered warriors pivoted their weapons at the Collector, extinguishing his light and life in a matter of seconds. The creature fell into a slump upon the floor, his massive coat sprawling and hiding his body despite the holes riddling it. As smoke filtered in from the outside, and the screams continued, Thanos maintained focus on a distant point for a minute or two. The warriors gathered shifted in their formation, darting glances to one another as the time ticked by.

" _Is that all, sir?_ " asked one armored fellow, palming his weapon as his leader approached a case at the far end. He had been eyeing it curiously since claiming the stone, fingers tapping against the wrist of the gauntlet for a few seconds. Striding forward, the camera turned with him, hovering out of sight still as he approached the case of interest. Frost coated the inside, the form of the being within no more than a deep, black shadow at that moment. Cocking his head to the left, Thanos drew himself to his full height before dipping his chin.

" _Take this to the ship, burn the rest._ "

Harsh, guttural words spewed forth, gestures and grunts given between warriors to begin hauling away the case. The ice within seemed to crackle and thaw as it was pulled from its spot, previous scorch marks littering the shell. As it was carted away, a few more items were selected, including one of their own who had been held hostage within the place for far too long. Everything else, though, was left to burn. Manuscripts, literally woven parchment and papers were heaped with data files, cloth and combustibles pushed to the center of the room. As they went about their work, she spied Thanos deviating from his path, slipping toward the wall and the very room she was seated within at that moment. The warriors jerked to a stop when their leader cried for them to hold, more minutes lost as they waited. Eventually, he emerged, data disks and pods in hand before he nodded for them to continue. Once they were finished, he commanded they return to the ship, and they obliged him, completing the pile shortly after his departure. All it took was a single spark, and the fire grew, little by little. Within in a matter of minutes, the flicker of flames licked along the screen's edge, the Collector's body heaped into the center of an impromptu pyre with derisive laughter and shrieks of amusement. Screams erupted from those still trapped within their cages, all perishing as the fire engulfed the room. All save for this single room had been turned to ash, and it made her furious to think about it.

The blatant disregard Thanos had shown for all the treasures within, the ignorance of what those captured could do, struck her as much as the carelessness of the lives lost. They were not of use, and so they would be turned to ash, forgotten.

Nothing there was meant to be forgotten, as it was with the last four settlements he had destroyed in his quest for the stones. One hand curled into a fist as the screen went dark, her resolve hardening all the more as her metal fingers clicked.

"...This will end," murmured the cyborg female at the console. Swiftly she stood, tapping several of the keys to eject the surveillance pods from the drive. Once a tray on the side was released, she fetched them up, tucking them into a pocket on her belt. "This must end."

Before she moved away, before she could take a step and leave behind the carnage that been wrought, something on the monitor caught her eye. Most, if not all, the files on the drive had been destroyed after the menace and his army had blown through the city, the recorded surveillance left as a warning to any who would come and investigate. However, she found an innocuous file that had been left behind. She knew Thanos would not leave that behind without a purpose as well. Carefully, she tapped at the screen, summoning up a plethora of files, mostly conjectures and theories passed on between the trade routes and interstellar travelers. However, the Collector had taken note of their words, literally, due to the nature of the information provided. The first files were dated from several cycles ago, and she blinked as it showed recovered data from those who had been involved in the first battle of Earth. The creature whom Thanos had entrusted with the Staff had led them, but they were defeated. One of Asgard had been in their number, but the others had been given a fair amount of attention as well. All humans, save for the one. All fighting to protect the planet, six of them...and they had won.

Those humans were meant to be fodder for Loki, the earth a stepping stone for Thanos, but in the end, the humans came away the victors. And she could theorize, on her own, that they had not been idle in the cycles following the attack.

Neither had her father, but it was known now that those of Earth stood up for themselves, and would fight to the last breath. She had seen it firsthand as well.

Nebula knew what she was looking at. She was looking at her father's greatest targets, drawing him in after all those years. His quest for the Infinity Stones tied in with them, and she knew it. A light smirk played upon her lips.

It would end, and she would see to it. Tapping at the keys once again, she centered on one of the number in particular, knowing that contact must be made if her desires were to be met. Through him, and through others, would her task be complete. Finally, completely.

All she had to do was find him.

* * *

 **A/N 2:** And so begins _Darkest Before Dawn_. This chapter is more like a prologue, a set-up of things to come in this story. In the next chapter, I intend to touch back on Earth, meet up with a certain super-soldier and all that he is involved in. Trust me, if you haven't gone back to read the other stories yet, do so now. There will be alterations there right off the bat, so definitely get that done.

Get ready, y'all. We're in for a ride, here.

I will warn you: the next chapter may be a little late, since this weekend and the following week are going to be busy for me. However, I will do my best to keep to my weekly update.

Lastly, I do have a Twitter (PhanProTweets) where I do post story updates. I'm doing self-promo just because the site sometimes has issues, and I'd rather not have you guys miss an update.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	2. Chapter 2

April, 2018

The first streaks of light signaling the dawn were stretching across the sky, touching the slowly-budding trees. By degrees, it filtered through leaves and branches to a slate blue house, set away from the main road, silent as the day harkened.

Well, silent until the middle step, which squeaked under the heavy pressure of a foot. A muttered curse followed, as well as the quick steps of the person reaching the bottom of the stairwell. Shaking his head, Steve Rogers exhaled slowly as the jingle of tags on a collar rattled through the air. He leaned back against the wall, brushing down his navy sweatpants and the tee he wore. Idly, he scratched at the beard now covering his chin and cheeks, the morning itch assuaged (it had been grown as part of a charity effort for an event Tony Stark had hosted in November—the other man had suggested it mostly as a joke. Once he'd done so, though, he found he didn't mind it all that much, and so kept it). Raking back through his blond hair—a little longer now, enough to be in the combed-back style many men were favoring in that day and age—he smirked as a ball of tan and white fluff appeared at the top step, a little breath huffed out of the muzzle of the animal. The corgi could not be held back as she bounded down the stairs to him, a doggy smile appearing as her tongue hanged out the side of her mouth. Kneeling down, Steve began to pet her, appeasement for his next statement.

"Sorry, Bonnie, it's gonna be a hard run this morning," he apologized to the corgi, rubbing down her furry sides. He had woken with the intention of doing a full run, and he would not be dissuaded, not even by the small dog. Scratching between her ears, he promised aloud, "Tomorrow, okay?"

Bonnie nosed at his hands, giving a tiny yip when he quietly commanded her to go lay down. Instead of doing that, she went further into the living room, flopping on a pillow that had landed on the floor and raising her head imperiously. Chuckling once more, Steve exited the house, the cool spring air enveloping him as he went down the front steps. Deep breaths sustained him as he stretched out his legs, shaking out his arms a bit before he set his pace.

Down the drive he went, feet pounding on the gravel before he broke free onto the tarred road beyond the trees. The stretch of the path churned and whirled as he sprinted by, the streaks of light of the coming day glinting and beckoning through the branches of the trees. He enjoyed it, the solitude of the venture. The solitude, and the quiet, of the earth before it woke around him. There, he could hear it happening around him, without it being dulled by bureaucrats or silenced by cab horns. The rush of the wind against him as he moved, the thud of blood rushing through his veins accompanied by the tread of his feet as he ran encircled him. Miles were achieved before he turned around, stopping just before the spread of the trees opened up onto some fields.

It was time to get home, so the rest of the day could truly unfold.

Steve arrived back at the house a short time later, only slighted winded by the effort he put into his morning run. Swiping the sweat clear from his forehead and neck, he entered the slate blue domicile, eyes lighting fondly as he latched the front door behind him and made for the stairs to the second floor. Once there, he chose to turn the corner rather than continue on, going to the slightly opened door there. Peeking in, his gaze darted over the bedroom. Toys were strewn around a toy-box, a stuffed giraffe nestled in the rocking chair in the corner, a filled laundry basket perched and ready to be taken down. His eyes ran over to the crib along the wall, and he smiled to himself. Inside, in elephant-patterned pajamas, was a toddler, a boy just a few months away from his second birthday. Sandy brown hair spiked up at odd angles on his head, his legs tangled in a blanket and his hands bopping around his favored stuffed sheep toy.

Like him, his son Grant was an early riser, and Steve couldn't find a reason to complain about it (not that day, at least).

"Morning, little man," he stage-whispered, and the little boy turned at his voice, smiling broadly. At once, Grant was on his feet, gripping the rails of his crib and bouncing at the sight of his father.

"Daddy!" he cried, one hand reaching over the rails and curling at him. His arms lifted, and the young toddler crowed, "Daddy, up."

The corner of Steve's mouth curled higher, and he crossed the room to the crib, picking up his son as he'd been asked.

"Yep, up and at 'em," he affirmed, bouncing him a few times before nuzzling at the boy's cheeks. The scratch of his beard had the little guy cawing and giggling happily. Holding him close, Steve started to nod, to persuade the little guy to agree with his next proposal. "Let's go see if Mommy's awake, huh?"

The young boy bobbed his head as well. "Yeah."

The agreement made, Steve carried his boy out of the room and down the hall, the knob turning silently under his free hand as they entered. Upon entering, he choked off a laugh; all the covers on the bed were wadded up on one side. Somewhere within, under the cotton and snuffling, was Holly, and he was intent on drawing her out. Crossing over to her side of the bed, he tickled Grant's belly, his giggles making the lump shift ever-so-slightly.

"Good morning, Mommy," Steve murmured, causing his wife's form to stir under the bedclothes. Clearing his throat, he repeated his words at a slightly louder tone, his free hand tugging at the comforter. Drawing it down from over her head, he withheld a chuckle as the tangled waves of her dark hair were pushed out of her face, revealing narrowed, dark brown eyes. Upon spying the boy in his arms, she did managed a slight curve of the lips, a long breath huffed out through her nose. Grant, delighted to see his mother, immediately pivoted in his father's embrace, arms opening to her.

"Kiss?" he implored, big blue eyes staring down at Holly. Slowly, she nodded, shifting under the remaining covers.

"Yes, you get a kiss," she conceded, a tiny, genuine grin on her lips as she sat up. With the comforter and sheet falling away, the spread of her baby bump beneath the sleep shirt was all the more obvious. Steve could not help but smile inwardly, still; within the first few months of trying, Holly had become pregnant with their second child. Nearly in her eighth month now, her belly had certainly swelled, and had become a fascination with Grant. Which he demonstrated as he was passed down to her, little fingers tapping her belly before she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"No kisses for me?" Steve inquired, a playful pout on his lips as she rolled her eyes at him.

"You keep waking me up too freakin' early," she retorted, eyebrows inclining slightly. It had not been the first morning that she had been woken in such a manner, before her alarm clock even had the chance to go off. He shrugged at that, muttering something unintelligible to her ears, and she did not press him on it. Instead, she shifted her legs over a little, allowing Steve a spot on the edge of the mattress to sit. He took up her silent offer, laying a hand on her covered knee as he sat.

"If I make breakfast, would that get me one?" he bargained, an eyebrow spiking slightly. Her gaze turned thoughtful, and she cocked her head to the left.

"Possibly." Letting Grant slide off her lap and onto the bed beside her, a pronounced wince decorated her features. At once, Steve scooted closer, fingers tangling with hers as he looked at his wife.

"How are you? Both of you?" he asked her, his voice pitching low as their son waddled atop the bedspread, chattering to himself. Concern surfaced in his blue eyes as she toyed with his fingers for a moment. Though the time she'd carried Grant was no sinecure, it was even less so with the second child. She'd suffered morning sickness all the way through the first and second trimesters, and her energy was sapped more often than not. She'd teetered on the edge of dehydration a few times, countering it with a stay in the base's infirmary just to be safe. Thankfully, the nausea she felt had waned by the time the third trimester had started, but it had made her husband all the more wary for her health, and the health of the little one, too.

Her answer began with a shrugged shoulder, a weary resignation lighting her irises.

"Achy, tired. In summary, same as always," Holly reported, leaning back against the headboard and pillow. Wiggling a bit to alleviate the pressure, she continued, "She is turning cartwheels and landed on my bladder a couple of times while you were out. It's a happy morning for her."

Despite her discomfort, Holly's lips did pull into a grin, as did Steve's. As with Grant, they had been determined to know the sex of the coming baby, and that time, he was able to be there when the doctor had announced that it was a girl. Actually looking at the screen, being there for the print-off and seeing the pure delight in his wife's face, compacted upon his own happiness. A girl, their girl...a sister for their son, a daughter...it was another memory to relish.

Presently, he shook his head slightly, smiling again.

"Good job, sweet pea," he congratulated the baby in her womb, bending and planting a kiss on Holly's swollen belly. A kick reverberated then, close to where he'd pecked, and he chortled, moving a hand over the area and waiting for another. Soon enough, the baby obliged, thumping up and unknowingly kicking into his palm. Their son crawled over to them, sitting up by his mother and looking at her curiously.

"Sis good?" asked Grant, his tiny hands braced atop his daddy's.

"Yes, your sister is very good, bud," Steve assured him, patting him on the back before hoisting him up once more. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat."

Putting him on the floor, he admonished the toddler to stand back a bit, waiting until he did so to rise and take his wife's hands in his. Helping her out of the bed, her fingers curled hard around his as she levered herself up, daring to stretch up onto the balls of her feet. Quickly bracing her waist, he bent and was rewarded with her mouth meeting his. His heart thrummed as he held her there, slanting his head to better sip at her lips. After a couple of seconds—and a disgruntled huff from their boy—he pulled back, staring down at Holly as she grinned and sighed.

"Ah, so I did get my kiss," he breathed, lips curving and a glint coming into his gaze.

"Can't resist your lumberjack charms, I guess," she teased him, patting his beard and smirking up at him. His eyes darkened a bit at her ministrations, but he merely planted a peck in her hair before palming the small of her back. An insistent tugging at the leg of his sweatpants came then, and he scooped up the toddler to carry him down as they went. As he promised, breakfast was served, Holly supervising Grant in his highchair while he ate oatmeal, their own bowls accompanied by toast and market-brand jam. Gathered at the table at the far end of the kitchen, the adults trading conversation as the corgi reappeared trotting between her filled food bowl and their chairs for the chance at scraps.

"Everything's okay across the pond?" she asked, cleaning up a plop of oatmeal that had been cast to the floor before Bonnie could eat it. "Joe, Pietro, and the others are alright?"

Steve dipped his chin, swallowing his mouthful. At that point of their relationship, he knew he could trust her with a few details about his work. Being a commander of the world's foremost specialist team was not easy, and it helped to have a partner he could talk to about it, at least a little. No explicit details were given, of course—which neither of them had problems with—but she knew of a few of the members personally, and it wouldn't really do any harm to know how they were.

"For the most part," he conceded, witnessing the slight flinch in her features. Knowing he would have to pony up or let her concern build, he went on, "Duquesne took a hit, so he's out for a little while. Guerrero is sore about it, too; says he's been ranting so loudly in his head that it's been giving her migraines."

That managed to curve her lips a little; it didn't surprise her at all. The two had harbored a friendly antagonism for each other since the young woman had been recruited, so Steve had gathered (Holly maintained it was repressed attraction, while her husband refused to speculate about yet another interdepartmental relationship that may or may not be). Whatever was between Synapse and the Swordsman, it had remained at banter and friendly sniping; anything else, they could take up with Human Resources and be done with it. Joe Chapman, the field leader for the secondary team, had enough on his plate to deal with, as well; Pietro Maximoff never made anything simple, and he knew that from experience, as well.

"You hear from your publisher lately?" he asked then, recalling the phone call she'd received just before they'd put Grant to bed the night before. She'd gone into another room to take it, but when she returned she had nothing to say, save for a thinning of her lips. As she did the two-part shuffle to get up and place her cleared dishes, she reported that they would be sending back a few chapters of her second novel, more edits and suggestions for her to do. They requested all be sent back within a couple of weeks' time, but she was frustrated with it. The process of writing was enjoyable, but she was trying to fit it in between full-time work as an archivist and taking care of their son. Thankfully, the publishing house and her agent were more than accommodating due to the difficulties she was having with the pregnancy, but she knew that wouldn't last too much longer. Tutting at that, Steve hastened to assure her that she could do it, getting up and rubbing her shoulders in placation. After all, once the edits were taken care of, it would only be a matter of time before the sequel to her first novel would go to print, and wasn't that something to look forward to?

Once she'd given a nod in agreement, he squeezed her shoulders once more before heading back to the table, retrieving all the dirty dishes for washing.

"Tony's up for the weekend, right?" she inquired, swiping at a piece of hair stuck to her forehead. Steve hummed under his breath as he went back to the table, with Grant raising his arms and declaring himself finished with his food.

"Yeah, doing touch-ups to the lab," he told her, lifting Grant out of the chair and placing him on the ground. Bonnie scampered over to the little guy, and he squealed, wrapping his arms around her before toddling after her to the living room. His father tiptoed in their path, leaning against the arch separating the two spaces and keeping an eye on them as they went. "Adding in new equipment, that sort of thing."

"I suppose communal dinner will be had tonight, since everyone is at home," she mused, tapping a thumb along the counter, waiting for the basin to fill with hot water.

"Yeah. Want to go to that, once work is done?" he wondered, brow creasing slightly. "I can pick up Grant and then we can head up."

Holly tossed him a grin. "If Wanda's cooking, sure, I'm up for it."

With the dishes soaking, the family went about the business of getting ready for the day. Showers were had, everyone was dressed, and soon enough the two parents were walking the little guy out the back door, Bonnie secure inside as the locks slid home and the system was armed. Heading to the adjacent garage, Steve knelt down by his son before they all parted ways.

"You be a good boy, okay?" he told Grant, tipping his chin up with a finger so the child could look him in the eye. The boy nodded, a toothy grin given to his father.

"'Kay."

"Alright," the blond man replied, pulling him into his arms. "Love you."

"'Ove you," the little guy said, arms wrapping around his neck and a last kiss pressed to his scruff. Standing straight, Steve kissed Holly good-bye as well, promising to check in with her when he went to get Grant after work. With the little guy placed into his seat in the back of her new car (her old, blue Buick finally bit the dust a few months back. The new vehicle, an Avenger, always made her laugh, while he just rolled his eyes and ignored it), the pair of them crunched down the gravel road just as he climbed into his own truck. Tapping the console, he armed the security system and put the AI, JJ, on alert before backing out of the garage himself.

The fifteen minute drive to the Avengers base seemed to fly by, the sun fully out and not a cloud in the sky as he pulled onto the frontage road leading to the underground parking. It almost seemed from the moment he stepped out of the vehicle (snagging a spot beside his wife's car, incidentally), there was someone there, requesting his time or hoping to get his permissions on something. While Maria Hill was actually the director for the base's operations, Steve did tend to several functions within, particularly the upkeep of new recruits and reading scouting reports. As it turned out, several of the trainees brought in the last month wanted him to do some take-down demonstrations. One turned into several, with agents taking turns coming at him before being shown of to move and maneuver around enemies fluidly. By the time he actually made it to his office on the top floor, he'd found a pile of reports in the tray on his desk, as well as emails forwarded from Coulson, Fury, and Chapman. Flopping into his chair, he gave his face a preemptive scrub, squaring his shoulders and preparing to bury himself in the papers. One by one, they were examined, cross-checked against the others from the last couple of missions the team had undertaken. There was some chatter about the surfacing team in New York City, and about the Spider-Man swooping around Queens, but otherwise, those that they detained did not have much to say. Whether they were HYDRA or just plain, old criminals, they didn't like to chat with the Avengers. Well, until Natasha came at them; some of them sang a different tune when she went to work. And not only her, as well. Smirking to himself, he shuffled the papers back into his tray, highlighter on certain points and checks beside others.

Good Lord, he was beginning to miss the training room and showing people how to tuck and roll.

A knock came at the door a few hours later, pulling his attention away from the computer screen. He let out a soft sigh as he looked up, a weary grin stretching his lips as he registered who was there. Bucky Barnes opened the door, standing within the arch, his lips quirked into a smirk and his eyebrows raised. The new Captain America—finally being referred to simply as Captain by the press—was dressed down in civvie clothes and brown boots, his cybernetic arm fully exposed. Like Steve, he'd grown his hair out, though he'd started well before the commander had. It was twisted back into a pony tail, and he actually looked relaxed. Generally, he was keyed up for a day or two after returning from a mission, but he must have had a session with his therapist that morning to put him on an even keel.

"Hey, Buck," Rogers greeted him, about to gesture for him to have a seat. His phone chimed then, and he glanced down at the device with a frown. The alert he'd preset glared back at him, and he let out another breath as he rose from his chair. Flicking a few fingers towards the hall, he said, "Sorry, but are you able to make it a walking report? Gotta check in with Tony, didn't have time beforehand."

Bucky shrugged, stepping out of the way to let him pass before following. "Sure, if it means that the handwritten one can be a little late."

Steve scoffed audibly, but murmured, "Fine, I'll accept it this time. Tell me what happened."

As the two men traipsed down the hall, Barnes did exactly that. The most recent foray the team had taken had brought them into Germany. Another of the splinter sect that Coulson was hunting down had resurfaced, joining with some HYDRA operative that had eluded the team. In what Stark was terming as the "Douche-bag Hat Trick", apparently previous employees of A.I.M. had also joined up, looking to supply the gathering soldiers with knock-offs of Extremis. After a few days of recon, the team was able to infiltrate the compound, shutting it down from the inside. Due to the presence of the drug, Stark had been summoned to join the full-time team, collecting the cruder formula in an effort to tailor the cure he'd given Pepper to it. Naturally, the fight had escalated, but it was ultimately contained.

"And the damage?" Rogers inquired, face set and his bright eyes considering a point in the distance as they walked.

"Minimal, only to the facility itself and a few of the agents we caught," Bucky stated. His flesh hand came up, tucking back a few loose strands of his hair as he considered something else. "Hawley said Ross is trying to stir up trouble again, but since we've been giving him little traction, he's starting to really lose his credibility."

Rogers shook his head; Senator Ross rarely ever failed to put forth his opinion on the Avengers, and that time was no exception.

"Can't say I'm disappointed to hear that," he replied, the pair of men sharing a smirk at that. Taking another flight of stairs down, he cut a left through the door on the bottom landing. "Still, we gotta keep this up, and give him no reason to get it back."

"Yessir," Barnes riposted, making Steve blow a hard breath out his nose. Ignoring that, Bucky scrubbed at the back of his neck and continued, "Natalia and Wilson finished with interrogation this morning, they're gonna get in around seventeen-hundred hours."

The delight in Bucky's face was muted, but Steve still noticed it when he glanced over.

"Perfect timing," he noted aloud, watching out the corner of his eye as his friend coughed once.

"You expect anything less?"

Steve snorted at that, affixing his friend with a knowing grin. "I know _you_ don't."

Particularly when it came to a fiery, redheaded ex-agent, he mused inwardly, but he settled for a chuckle after Bucky rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of 'bite me.' Finally, they arrived at a set of heavy, metal double doors. The light about it was green, indicating it was safe for entry, and so Rogers pushed it open.

"I'll wait here," the brunet man murmured, hanging back on the threshold. Cocking his eyebrow, Steve paused.

"I thought you guys were better," he replied in a hushed tone. Though it was doubtful Tony and Bucky would ever be great friends, they were working together more and more frequently. The specters of Howard and Maria Stark would likely always hover between them, but they had been civil to one another, as far as he knew. Bucky shrugged a shoulder, and shook his head.

"Better, yeah," he intoned honestly. His cornflower blue gaze focused on the sliver of the room he could see from the door, and he smirked wryly. "Not good enough to enter the sacred space, I think."

Steve clenched his jaw, but he would not fight that. Not that day.

"Okay, I'll be out in a minute. We'll get some food then," the commander said, checking his watch and noting how late it had really gotten. Striding into the room, he touched two fingers to his temple and gave Barnes a salute, a halfhearted one sent back as he went in further. Crossing the gymnasium-sized space, he worked around the wide, steel tables with tools and equipment strewn across them. Ducking beneath several high definition displays, he cast a fast look at the bank of display cases, each one housing different suits. At the far end, another brunet fellow stood, a welding torch in his hand and a mask pushed over his face. He was putting the finishing touches on

"You know, your pet cyborg can come in," Stark grunted, lifting his welding mask to look properly at Steve. Shrugging a shoulder, his jaw ticked. "So long as he doesn't touch anything."

"Can't guarantee that he wouldn't, though," the commander retorted, looking at all the trinkets and gadgets. Back in the day, the sort of things the Starks put out in the scientific community had fascinated Buck, and he had slowly been regaining his passion for it. Were he to gain access to Stark's Iron Man bay, he wasn't sure he would be able to get him to leave. Cupping a hand in the air, he posited, "Probably best for everything all around that he doesn't."

The tech genius canted his head, setting down the torch and removing the safety gloves quickly. The silver wedding band on his ring finger caught the eye, as ever, but he did not draw attention to it. His wedding to Pepper, a massive blow-out that had swamped the society pages for months, was definitely a milestone for him, even if it was conducted with only a Justice of the Peace on the top levels of the Tower. (It nearly usurped the ball drop in Times Square, due to it being held on New Year's Eve, but the stations had asserted their will over the telecast Stark had permitted of the reception.) Steve had attended with Holly and their son, along with a few team members, but the affair was generally kept within the family. Still, a few months had gone by, and the furor was finally beginning to die down. Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, _husband_. It still took a bit of adjustment, but Steve quickly shook off those thoughts.

"Fair enough. Checking up on me, _Dad_?" he quipped, waggling his eyebrows at the blond man as he pulled the mask off his head.

"Just wanted to see the progress for myself," Rogers returned, glancing at the widgets Tony had been working on. Once Peter graduated from high school, he would be going upstate for the summer. Officially, he'd be working as an intern for the lab there, but it was the unofficial stuff that he would be focusing on. He had come a long way as Spider-Man, but he stood to gain more in training were he able to stay on for a longer period of time. Granted, he could not be away from Queens for too long, but he was granted permission to call upon quinjets and such to be ferried to and from the base now. A portion of the bay would be his to make adjustments to his own suit, and to continue his work before heading to college in the fall. A corner of Steve's mouth lifted as he stared at the gathered tools and data pads. "Parker will be over the moon when he gets here in June."

"The idea alone has been giving him the happy tingles, which is a little disturbing to think about, on some levels," Tony muttered, shaking his head at the thought. The last meeting he had with the teen had proved it, the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed attitude he had in the early days surfacing when Stark had told him about the concessions being made for him. Stepping back from his project, he inclined his chin. "So long as he likes his little corner, it's cool."

"Oh, he will. I know it," Rogers responded. Shifting his gaze back towards the suits, he wondered, "You have anything else going at the moment?"

Proceeding to tell of the couple of ideas hanging out in the databanks, including refitting a suit with lighter and better retro-reflective panels for stealth purposes, Stark was soon interrupted by a low-pitched whine. At once, the high definition displays flashed red, and the sound grew louder. Retrieving his phone out of his pocket, Steve stared at in surprise.

He stared with good reason; it was the first security breach the base had ever registered. At once, Tony jogged to the nearest display, tapping against it and calling out to JJ to locate the threat.

"Sensors on the rooftop platform have been triggered," he told the commander as the screen filled with images of the tripped sensors. Nodding once, Steve hurriedly called up to Hill, relaying the news along with his own commands.

"Send agents to respond to threat, neutralize if aggressive but do not kill," he stated, striding back towards the exit and motioning for his friend to come. "Stark and Barnes will be behind me for contact."

With Maria rogering that, the two men beckoned Barnes, all of them going to the emergency stairwell and clattering up them quickly. The whir of Tony's watch forming into a powered gauntlet was accompanied by the clicking plates of Bucky's arm locking into place, the ring of boots echoing around them all as they ran. It took a few minutes before they burst out onto the platform, a veritable ring of black-clad agents posted with guns at the ready. Striding up to them, they broke apart in time for the trio to note the new arrivals. Jerking to a stop, they did notice them, alright.

One was unfamiliar, standing tall and his gaze piercing them all. His black hair was slicked into place, a few free stands landing atop his head. Gray streaked at his temple, some evidence of it beginning to show in his goatee. A great, crimson cape wrapped and whirled around him, stirring with something much stronger than the passing breeze. At the center of his blue tunic sat an ornate medallion, glinting in the sunlight. Dully, memories of a description given by both detainees and Wanda Maximoff filtered into Steve's mind. This was a man who had eluded them in the past, a man who would cut through planes of reality to right the wrongs of the world. The power around him—within him—radiated fully, hitting them squarely as they all looked on in slight wonderment and confusion.

The second, however, was someone they knew all too well. With his cropped curls and glasses askew on his face, the quiet, unassuming man was struggling to catch his breath. He mopped a hand across his forehead as he gasped, attempting to regain composure. Focus, somehow, was drawn to him, and the trio shot shocked looks to one another.

"Doctor Banner?" Steve breathed, eyes widening further when the smaller man gave him a weak wave.

"Hey..." he said, his dark gaze suddenly cut off as he bent at the waist, violent retching sounds coursing out of his throat. The stranger stepped forward, laying a hand upon his shoulder and encouraging him to bend at the waist.

"Head between your legs, Banner," encouraged the caped man beside him. Looking up, he cast them all an apologetic look. "Sorry, motion sickness isn't all that uncommon with portal travel."

The agents around them started to shift in the stances, quiet murmurs being passed, and Barnes gave Steve a pointed look. Clearing his throat, the blond man took another step forward, one hand coming up and making a chopping motion at the gathered agents.

"Stand down," he commanded, all cold authority in his voice. He knew that Banner's sudden appearance, let alone the stranger's, did not herald anything good, particularly as he had not been back at the base for over a year. And not only that, he could see the frissons of fear in his eyes. He was supposed to be on Asgard with Thor, looking into the problem of the Infinity Stones.

What was he doing there?

At his demand, the guns lowered further, and Rogers continued, "Back to stations. Now."

At once, the agents peeled away from the ring they'd constructed, some glancing over their shoulders at the commander as they went back inside. Barnes crossed his arms then, Stark shooting Steve a fast look as Banner did as the stranger asked, his breath being caught as the cool spring breeze whipped around them.

"Well, this is one way to liven up a Wednesday," Tony muttered, and Rogers cast a hard glance at him, which did nothing to disguise the worry in his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, it is quite a way to shake things up at work, watching a friend succeed in portal travel with a stranger. :-P

There is a bit of a time jump since the end of _In Due Course_. Hopefully, this isn't too jarring for most people. I wanted to get as close to the action of the story as I could, without a nearly a year of build-up prior. I know, I did not write in detail about Holly becoming pregnant again, or about Tony's wedding, but like I said, after the fluff fest of the previous story, I wanted to get down to business...to defeat the Huns...no...

Yes, I caved and went for a bearded Steve. Those freakin' SDCC pics/posters/bootlegs got me, dang it…

And no worries, Bruce does have an explanation. It will be involve events from the previous days, but there is a reason as to why he is Earth-side again.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Disney, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

With the guards disbanded, Steve made the decision that they all had to move indoors. Bruce, at the very least, needed to get out of the open air so that he could recover from the motion sickness he was suffering from. He sucked in deep breaths as they all began to walk away from the center of the landing pad, the elevator beyond beckoning. Slowly, he was rising from his bend at the waist, Tony flanking him on one side and the mysterious man on the other. Bucky and Rogers brought up the rear, both of them focused on the new arrivals as they walked. The red cape fluttered and flapped as the tall, brunet man walked beside the former Avenger, and he glanced across to the tech genius on the other side.

"Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Stark," the caped stranger stated, the corner of his mouth curving as he looked at the billionaire. Bucky and Steve turned to look at Tony, just as he arched an eyebrow and scoffed aloud.

"I think I'd remember meeting you, caped crusader," he remarked drily. The man in question arched his own brow for a moment, a chuckle and a shake of the head accompanying it after two or three seconds. Glancing at the captain and the commander, he hooked a thumb at the tech genius.

"You'd think one would remember their surgeon, wouldn't you?" the taller man proclaimed then, and Tony was pulled up short. His eyes narrowed, staring intently at the curiously-garbed man for several seconds before recognition clicked and he inhaled sharply.

"...Stephen Strange?" he breathed in wonderment. Steve spiked an eyebrow at him, prompting him to explain that this Strange fellow was the one who had headed the surgical removal of his arc reactor years ago. The man apparently had quite a reputation, though he'd been off the grid for some time. Evidently, that was no longer the case. Running his gaze over the doctor, he murmured, "Wow, you went...I didn't realize Renaissance-Turkish prince was a look."

"You learn something new everyday," Strange riposted, his smile widening for a brief second. Quickly though, the mirth fell away, and he clasped his hands behind his back. Turning his attention to Rogers, he intoned almost severely. "Speaking of which, do we have a lesson to tell all of you about."

The blond man dipped his chin, understanding that all too well, but Tony once again cut in.

"Definitely looks to be a doozy," he shot back, Barnes barely hiding a snort at that. Banner glanced both at the sorcerer and Steve, taking another gulp of air and finally gaining steadiness.

The five men moved totally into the elevator then, the commander sharing a fast look with the captain as Stark bustled the two doctors onto the conveyance. Both immediately got onto their phones, Steve making the call to Maria while Bucky contacted the Black Widow, informing her to get the word out to the rest of the team (Banner barely suppressed a grimace at that, but he kept his comments to himself). Within a few seconds, they descended a couple of floors below, tromping through the private halls to one of the conference room. It was one that faced upon the windowed side of the base, the glass revealing the expanse of the field beyond the structure and the long treeline surrounding it. Once the others were settled, Stark ran out to get some water for the doctor, returning in time with a bottle just as the team began to file in. Wilson and Lang shuffled to the opposite side of the table, the Falcon and Ant-Man casting questioning looks at Steve as they sat. They'd been called out of a training session, and still sported their undershirts after quickly shedding uniforms. The Vision and Wanda Maximoff arrived hand in hand, Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill the last to enter. As the base director closed the door and tapped through to JJ to request privacy measure be put in place, the Black Widow sat on the captain's other side. Her hand linked with his under the table, both of them maintaining stoic expressions as all turned to Steve for an explanation. Rogers could only state that he had to defer to Doctor Banner and his new associate, since they were the ones bearing grave news.

Banner sat at the head of the table, Strange standing behind him and looking like a demented bodyguard. Still, nobody was tempted to laugh at the picture they painted. Not with the deadly seriousness on their faces.

"Whenever you're ready, Bruce," the commander prompted after a few minutes, hands flattening on the top of the table. Banner inclined his head, mimicking his posture as he drew breath, recalling the occurrences of the recent past.

 **xXxXxXx**

 _The day on Asgard had started hours ago, well before the sun had fully risen over the golden world. At that moment, though, it hardly looked golden; many of the tall, stretching buildings and arches had been pockmarked, the efforts to clean up and patch the broken parts underway for weeks. Asgard had been the epicenter for battle, and was slowly recovering. Much of what was lost could be repaired, and Bruce knew that._

 _Deep down, he felt the guilt for it, anyway. If he had stayed in the libraries of Asgard, in the learning annexes to attend to any and all information regarding the Infinity Stones, he thought he could have prevented a good majority of the disaster when it had struck. At his insistence, Bruce often went with Thor when he was chasing a new lead, and that eventually led to his own capture. Separated on the planet Sakaar, he had been forced into an almost slavery, the rage and frustration of the last several months causing him to turn. Instead of being frightened and put off by it, he was lauded and praised, though only when they had forced him into gladiator-style battles for their amusement. Unfortunately, Thor had been likewise captured, but when they were forced to face off against one another, it eventually brought him back into himself, their freedom taken when they turned on the organizers and fought their way out of the central city. That capture and resulting bid for freedom, though, had allowed something far worse to take place._

 _A dark enchantress, Hela, had managed to escape imprisonment and sought to revenge herself upon the outer world. Due to Thor's absence and the lack of Odin's true authority on the guards of the realm, she'd found a way to force her will upon the world, the devastation wide and horrifying by the time Thor and Bruce had come back._

 _Death and destruction had laid waste to what she touched, her influence on those disenchanted with Asgard calling them to her banner. She wanted death to come to Asgard, and had nearly succeeded. With the few allies left to them, including the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif, and even Loki—who was very much alive and free, much to the doctor's chagrin—they chose to face her head-on. Another ally, the Valkyrie, had drawn upon her own disenchanted forces, ringing around the attackers in the sky while the others fought on the ground below. The air of Asgard was rife with screams and cries, blood and sweat mixing into the very ground beneath their feet. And Hela thrived in it, practically blossomed, her dark form sliding around and flaying those in her path._

 _The worst of it was when she called down her own creation, made from lightning and fury. He was Thor's nearly-exact double, and he had it out for them all. He was meant to be the true destroyer, meant to replace the mold he'd come from and ease her way into power._

 _Somehow, through the blood and anguish, their side managed to be victorious. Everyone, even Bruce, had not walked away unscathed (Thor was nearly gone himself when he'd faced Hela and his doppelganger). Still, they'd come out the victors, the dangers of the world-ending creature and her followers ended as their bodies lay upon the ground._

 _Like death itself, Hela could not be killed. Instead, she was captured once more, banished from the world as her creatures were laid to waste before her. Her allies, having fallen, could not save her from the torment of her new prison: a deep, dark oubliette on a desolate rock many light-years from Asgard. Restrictive protocols were put in place around her, her power whittled away as she languished below ground, left to rot in her failure and sorrow._

 _Those were left, were left to rebuild, and Bruce felt he had to do his share. After all, he'd done damage while in his Hulk form, and he was trying to be better about making amends for it. (Asgardians, however, were far more forgiving of his actions in that state than most of the humans of his world, and it lent a bittersweet ache to his heart whenever he was met with that acceptance). He had so much to make amends for, there and on Earth, but at least he was given the chance to in the golden capital of the planet. Weeks had gone by, and little by little, Asgard was growing into a new glory set by the people. He'd been speaking with Sif about the crushed lower levels of a nearby domicile when Thor suddenly stomped by, his blue gaze stormy as he looked to the heavens. Through atmosphere came a bronze-colored craft, egg shaped and scarred with sharp burn marks on the hull. About to turn and head to the observatory at the end of the bridge, Thor was preempted by the presence of a golden-helmed other._

 _Heimdall, newly reinstated to his post as a guardian of the Bifrost, had identified the craft as non-hostile, and so he allowed it to pass. Still, after all that had come before, none of them were willing to trust in the arrival of strangers. As the craft extended thick, heavy extensions for landing and hovered down, the nearest warriors formed up around it, weapons and shield at the ready (which Bruce found privately amusing, since most had only been holding hammers and such up until then). Exhaust flooded out from hidden pipes, and a platform slid down as the craft was parked. In short order, a shadow shifted along the hatch, forming into a being as she strode down the platform. A hooded cloak wrapped along a blackened flight suit, but soon enough she lowered it to reveal her face. Blue skin, marked along her bald head and cheeks, met their gazes, a whirring click as she lowered her metal hand. Her eyes darkened as she realized she had guards surrounding her, but she did not stop. Her focus had landed on Thor, and she moved toward him with purpose._

 _However, the sternness of his face and posture were easy to read, and she slowed down in her flight._

" _Who are you?" the blond god inquired, his deep voice gaining strength as he held out a halting hand. To the newly-arrived creature's credit, she did pause in her approach, her dark eyes sweeping around the repaired devastation. Slowly, her own palms rose, facing out in supplication despite the stiff pride in her stance._

" _Someone bearing a warning," she replied, her own tone low and even. Instead of a calm response, the Asgardian guards at hand ringed tighter around her, weaponry now in hand. At once, her placating fingers dropped and curled around the blasters strapped to her hips, the guns up and pointed back fluidly._

" _Probably shouldn't be pointing guns at the people you're delivering messages to," Banner interjected mildly, eyes darting around the circle pointedly before returning to her. Shrugging a shoulder, he muttered, "Just saying."_

 _Her lips twisted at the corners, though her smirk appeared more like a sneer._

" _And shooting the messenger would be just as stupid." In spite of the harshness of her words, she slowly holstered her weapons again, standing straight again as she looked to Thor. Inhaling sharply, she introduced herself, "I am Nebula."_

 _Her name was given with gravity and importance, but those who had ringed around her merely stared on. After a moment or two, her shoulders slumped minutely, and irritation creased her face._

" _And I suppose that doesn't mean much on this side of the universe," she grumbled under her breath, folding her arms and cocking a hip out._

 _Thor shared a sideways glance with Bruce, his grimace broadening. "Sadly, it does not. Explain yourself."_

 _A hard breath poured out of her nose, but she dipped her chin. Gesturing for him and Banner to approach, she led the way back to her craft. Once up the ramp, she lowered her voice, the edge in her tone apparent as she told them what they wished to know. Nebula, as it turned out, was previously allied with a creature named Thanos, a Titan from the moon of Saturn. For years, she'd been under his thumb, nominally his adoptive daughter. One of them, anyway; she'd grumbled under her breath about other children, her younger year wrought with peril and abuse as she was forced to fight them. Soon enough, she swiftly changed the topic back to the Titan himself. Banished from his home world after veritably destroying it, he was exiled to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, ruling over a kingdom of rock and ash as he took in strays, kidnapped followers. He led the disillusioned, the lost, the detestable dregs of the universe. Power and influence left from his days as a wanderer and pirate buoyed him, marked him as every day passed. More and more were flocking to his side in recent years, particularly as he began to investigate rumors. Rumors about gems of incredible power. In the last few decades, actual, concrete evidence had been brought to light, and through deception and manipulation—as well as bloodthirsty bullying—he was on the brink of gathering them all._

 _On the craft, she tapped across the digital displays, pulling up the recovered security footage and news shared across the cosmos she had gathered. Due to his pursuit, there was quite a bit of it. Fires burned, cities were laid to waste, bodies of hundreds of other creatures were mutilated and torn asunder, all in the name of the very stones Thor had chosen to investigate. However, instead of the goal being to find out why they were being rediscovered, Thanos was bent on taking them for his own. Indeed, he'd had one in his care before entrusting it another, in the hope of securing the next. The god and the doctor shot frowns to one another; after all those years, they finally had an answer as to where Loki's power on Earth had truly come from._

 _Nebula, in spite of her own travails, had been tracking after him for some time, on step behind as she watched him rip through the universe in search of power. Sickened as both Thor and Bruce were, her explanations yielded more questions, and they were intent on finding answers._

" _But why do you come here for aid? Have you not any other allies?" Thor wondered, curious as to why a singular creature had chosen to come to them without taking it upon herself to do something. Something akin to sadness seemed to brew under the hostility in her face, and she looked away._

" _I went too far the first time I tried this, and nearly killed the wrong person." Her flesh fist tightened atop her knee, but she did not shirk away from them. "I can't risk that again. Not before I know there are others willing to fight, too."_

 _Bruce dipped his chin, letting the confession hang for a few seconds before speaking himself. "That still begs the question of why us."_

" _Because...you have dealt with this threat before," she informed him thusly, her dark eyes shining with understanding. Flicking it over Thor, she continued, "You and your friends. And you defeated him without ever knowing it. I want you to do so again, permanently this time."_

 _The oblique reference was not lost on them, and the two males glanced at one another._

" _My friends and I are no army," the god delivered bluntly, any amusement in him all but gone then. "We are not expendable soldiers that you can call upon just because you wish it."_

 _The blue-skinned creature rolled her eyes, her mechanical hand cutting through the air._

" _I realize that, thank you. That is why I'm asking you to do this. Not as soldiers, not as grunts to do my dirty work, but...as Avengers." Nebula maintained her steady gaze as Bruce and Thor both raised their eyebrows. Guessing at what the source of their surprise was, she pointed out, "You're known now; he certainly knows you. And he's coming, coming for you all."_

 _That unwelcome fact sank like a stone in Bruce's gut, and when he looked up at Thor, he knew it was sitting just as well with him._

" _For us, or for Midgard?" the god asked, his body stilled as if readying itself for battle right then. Nebula shot out of her seat, flapping a hand toward the window of her craft. Beyond the glass, one could see the remains of Asgard, of the bridge, the stars looming beyond the clouds and atmosphere._

" _Everything," she emphasized, almost harshly. However, she was not about to spare them. Thanos truly intended to destroy all in his quest for power and control of the universe, and he especially wished those who stood in his way to suffer. Raising her chin, she pronounced, "And I will not let him do so. If I have to die for that to happen, then so be it, but I want as many there so that he doesn't get far enough to reap any reward beforehand."_

 _Her words settled around them like a thick fog, the two males mired in it for several moments. Soon enough, the god lifted his chin, reaching out and tapping his colleague on his shoulder._

" _Bruce," he murmured, drawing him away from the new arrival to discuss what they had been told. Following him down the hatch and a little ways out of earshot, Bruce felt his stomach churning over and over again. While the events on Earth were nowhere near peaceful, he did know that they were not ready for an attack of that scale. Asgard had barely survived, and it had been built to be prepared for extraterrestrial attack for centuries. The vulnerable blue planet that they had left behind months ago was not._

 _It was just as Tony feared, predicted even, due to the nightmare that the Maximoff girl had laced through his mind. But...but what it was a feint, a hoax to get them to lay their guard down? Banner didn't like the idea, either way._

" _Think we can trust her?" the doctor whispered, risking a glance back at the cockpit of the bronze craft. Dark eyes peered out of the glass, and he forced himself to look away. "I mean, I know you've been on this trail for so long, but...it seems so sudden."_

 _Thor gave him a bittersweet, weary grin that did not reach his eyes. "War often is, my friend. As well you know."_

 _Another minute of silence stretched between them, only broken by the distant murmuring of the guards still milling about, and the long-off crashes of the world around them rising from the ground once more. Taking it all in, Bruce's eyes focused upon the tallest spire, the glare of the sun stretching over it through the crowds. It brought to mind...home. The home he'd left behind so long ago, the one that still held a place in his heart. Despite the hurt, the rejection, and the pain, Earth was his home._

 _He couldn't let it fall prey to a madman._

" _We can't just sit by, and let Thanos destroy everything," he said aloud, resignation and resolution in his voice. "Not because of us. It won't end well."_

" _I agree. But we must be cautious," the god responded. After another second or two, they shared a nod, silently reaching rapprochement in that instance. As one, they turned back to the craft, striding up to the opened hatch. Clearing his throat, Thor waited until the cloaked creature came into view, ignoring the narrowness of her eyes and the haughty cross of her arms. To her, he stated, "Nebula, our allies are not near."_

" _I know. But we may have enough time to gather them, if we act quickly. I have...contacts, that should be able to aid you," she conceded, almost as if they were pulling teeth from her. Shaking her head, she held up a single finger, preempting them from going any further. "I just have one demand, should you act on the information I've given you."_

 _A blond eyebrow spiked at her. "Which is?"_

 _She lowered her finger, closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath—gathering her strength, Bruce concluded inwardly._

" _...Call your friends first. We'll settle payment later."_

 _At the mention of payment, Bruce felt the hairs on his neck bristle. He could only imagine how she would wish to be compensated for bringing them news of impending doom, but neither he nor Thor were in a position to fight against the idea. Not too much, anyway._

 _The downturn of Thor's lips reflected his own disgust with the matter, though all he told her was, "Very well."_

 _Between the three, the two males had worked out a timetable to make contact and recruit to the cause, with Nebula being hosted on Asgard until Thor made his return. He would go with her to find her allies, but only once things were squared away on Earth._

" _How can we do this?" Bruce asked in a hushed tone, following his friend down the multicolored bridge. They were to leave immediately, Heimdall waiting for them at his post. Scrubbing a hand through his shorn hair, he muttered, "Human technology may have evolved by leaps and bounds in the last eighty years, but if we try to do any of what you're thinking of doing, it'll be downright impossible."_

" _I think not. I have friends, and I have...allies, as well," Thor reminded him, a glint flashing across his bright gaze. "One who may very well be of assistance in this instance."_

 **xXxXxXx**

"And that's where you come in, I assume," Stark broke in then, interrupting the story and allowing Bruce the chance to catch his breath. His dark gaze darted over to Stephen Strange, the taller man letting his lips crease into a grin.

"On the nose, Mr. Stark," he replied, supplying the tapping gesture against the side of the appendage in question. The others in the room glanced around each other, a new energy rising among them as the curiously-garbed man was about to enter the picture, atop everything they had been told.

Tony sat forward in his seat, flapping a hand in the air impatiently. "So what does—"

"Story's not over, pal," Barnes cut off the billionaire. Tony's mouth sported a frown and he nearly glared at the metal-armed captain, but the other man met it with a raised eyebrow of his own. "Doctor Banner needs to finish first."

"Please," Steve said softly, his blue eyes stormy and unfathomable as Bruce nodded, another swallow of water taken before he launched back into the tale.

 **xXxXxXx**

 _It had surprised Bruce that the ally that Thor had insisted they go to was actually a being on Earth. With Heimdall's approval, both of them had been transported back to the planet with little difficulty (although Bruce had the beginning twinges of nausea rocketing through him as they warped through the portal provided). The bridge connected to a spot near the center of Central Park, the early spring greenery of the city bursting through the last grays of winter. Dressed in his borrowed clothes, Bruce made sure to follow behind Thor after they landed, the walk away from the scorched grasses drawing stares from those in park as well. They barely managed to get away before any reporters showed up, disappearing into a cab just as the first van pulled up along the sidewalk—at least Bruce still had his wallet, with the Stark-supplied credit card in it to take them where they needed to go. The directions Thor gave the cabbie were slightly vague, but Banner was able to interpret the destination as somewhere in Greenwich Village._

 _Within twenty minutes, they were deposited just off the intersection of West 4_ _th_ _and 12_ _th_ _, the fellows with strange, foreign garb blending with the other people going about their day. (To a point, at least. It was difficult to go about the city without some people stopping and staring at the six-foot-four god with shorn hair and a wide, crimson cape.) They wandered down streets and through back alleys, soon enough coming upon a flank of buildings that resembled many other streets in the city. Nearly all were apartment blocks, though the one in the center was abnormally shorter than the others at hand. A combination flower shop and pastry-maker resided on the ground floor, and Thor froze in his place on the sidewalk, staring at it with disbelief in his eyes. Under his breath, Bruce heard his friend mutter about how it had been right there before, and wondering what had happened. Before Banner could do any more than express his own befuddlement, one of the crowd peeled away and came up to the tall god. He was an Asian man, slightly heavier set and Bruce's junior by fifteen years, his expression calm but for the creases set by his dark eyes. Recognition dawned on Thor, but neither he nor Bruce had the chance to say a word before the man was bidding them to come with him. Crossing the street after him (glancing at the nondescript plastic bag holding a few groceries in his hand), the pair was pulled up short when he halted right in front of the shop, a hand lifting and a few indistinguishable words muttered under his breath._

 _With that, the scales had fallen from their eyes, and Banner had to take in a sharp breath. What once had been a decrepit storefront and apartment building had morphed into a veritable mansion, the walls made of dark brown stone and the door looming ominously up from the street. Over all, a massive window sat, four swooping lines running and intersecting across the glass, seemingly staring down at them as they entered behind the fellow Thor had addressed. Wong, as he introduced himself to Banner, threw open the doors to the main floor, the little group entering swiftly before the panels slammed shut. Met with the sight of dark woods and carpets running the length of the halls, it seemed that the house was lit with a mixture of natural sunlight and candle-powered sconces doors sealing off the remainder of the building. Setting his bag to one side, their guide introduced himself as Wong, the corners of his mouth barely curving as he nodded to Thor. Bidding them to come along, he led the way up the grand staircase in the entry, the smell of incense wafting around them as they walked. The second floor was sealed as well, save for a single door offering the barest sliver of books and tables in its view. Around they went to another staircase, the third floor their destination. At the end of the hall, another set of double doors stood, those these were wide open already. There, candlelight bobbed and glowed along the panels, mysterious symbols and designs etched into the walls and the floors. Padded pillows sat in the center, but they were unoccupied, as was the book stand that held pride of place under a beam of light. Off to the side was a wide, dark desk, more candles littering it and a high-back chair pulled up to it. Barely able to glimpse around the side, Banner saw blue cloth wrapped around an elbow as it moved, the crinkle of a page as it turned echoing around them. Wong, entirely uninspired by the surroundings, strode forward, coming to the side of the chair and whispering to the sitter. Another murmur came in response, and Wong nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly when he backed away. Suddenly, he retreated to the side wall, the panels of a hidden door pushed in then. He disappeared before either Bruce or Thor could respond, something else halting them entirely._

" _I was wondering when I would see you again," a deep voice piped up then, and the high-backed chair scooted back from the desk, revealing the occupant as he stood. Dark, slicked hair crowned his head, piercing light eyes staring out from an angular face. All at once he seemed to hold knowledge of the ages, and yet was ageless himself—until he dropped his head a little, and then he appeared to be roughly a decade younger than Bruce. His blue tunic and dark pants swished as he strode up to Thor, extending his hand. "I take it that my help, well, helped?"_

" _Indeed, Doctor," Thor returned, nodding gravely as he engaged in the offered handshake. Clearing his throat, he gestured at Bruce, and spoke again. "Doctor Strange, this is—"_

" _Doctor Bruce Banner," he supplied, a smirk dancing across his lips as he offered his hand to him next. Bruce tipped his head to the side as the other man went on, "Good to meet you. In this state, at least."_

" _Thanks," the other doctor returned, shaking his hand in return. His dark eyes squinted at the other fellow, and an eyebrow rose slightly. "Doctor Strange, as in Doctor Stephen Strange?"_

 _The taller man gave a small smile, some of the amusement in his irises dimming. He had heard the skepticism in Banner's tone, and had indeed expected it. After all, it wasn't too long after the events in Sokovia that Strange had, like the Hulk, executed a vanishing act of his own. He sought out treatment for his hands, his life, and what he received in return was...so much more._

" _Guilty as charged," he admitted, his palm out and stretched back to the stairs. The two visitors followed Strange down to the second floor, rounding the corner to the library. Thousands of books, some seemingly older than the room itself, lined the shelves, the The incense in the air wafted around them as they made their way to an indicated alcove, bolts of crimson and moss-colored cloth swathing the walls. Chairs were set around an intricately carved table, the day's light shining through the high windows being met by the hazy glow of lit candles as they sat._

" _Last I heard, you had disappeared in some desolate backwater," Strange began, an eyebrow rising a little._

 _Bruce snorted, setting his gimlet gaze on the other doctor._

" _Likewise," he retorted, and Strange's smirk became more of a genuine grin. Rumors abounded about men like them, and Stephen himself knew better than to think he had been untouched after his disappearance some months ago. Banner glanced around the wide, open space of the library once more, and he let his eyebrows climb up slightly. "But clearly, that wasn't the case."_

" _He's the reason why I ultimately found you, friend," Thor explained in a low tone, shrugging a shoulder. In his search for the doctor a year prior, all leads given to him by Fury, SHIELD agents, and Tony Stark himself had come to nothing. Instead, he had to turn to alternate methods of location. Not only for his friend, but on which path to take once they left the planet again. The ancient symbol on the window at the front of the house, one that had been maintained across the centuries, indicated that protectors resided within. Those protectors had once worked with those of Asgard, years ago, and he felt he would have the best luck within. As it turned out, he was correct. The dark-haired man across from him merely blinked, and he hastened to explain to Bruce, "Strange has abilities."_

 _That made the former surgeon scoff aloud, his smirk remaining in place._

" _True enough." Cupping a hand in the air, he swirled it at their surroundings and then to himself. "It's less of my practice these days and more...sorcery."_

 _Bruce stared at him, noting the absolute sincerity in his features. "You can't be serious."_

 _Stephen shook his head, a rueful expression decorating his features. "Of all the things you've seen and even done in your life, doctor, this is what you question?"_

 _The other doctor opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. He had a point, and Banner felt it hitting him that moment._

" _...I suppose not," he conceded after a couple of seconds, his own grin wry in response. "But I wouldn't be a good scientist if I didn't take everything around me with a little grain of salt."_

" _Touch_ _é," he riposted. Turning to look at Thor, he bowed his head in respect, flicking his fingers at him._ _"Well, you've found me again, Asgardian. What brings you by?"_

 _Bruce couldn't help the small snicker that coursed out of him, interrupting once more. "Sorcery you have, but not telepathy."_

 _The grin on Strange's lips fell then, gravity and severity falling along the angles of his face._

" _Shockingly, no," he retorted, drawing in a deep breath as his gaze wandered to a point in the distance. "But...I have seen things, the mix of realities upon one another. Many cross, some do not even touch. What I need to know is which I will be crossing into this time."_

 _It fell to Thor to explain the situation at hand, telling of Nebula and her relation to an devious aggressor. The devastation of the galaxy at his hand, compounding upon her own and her projections that he would be coming for the earth next, hovered around them. Strange listened to all in silence, speaking only when the god has finished his piece._

" _You trust what she says?"_

 _Thor shared one last glance with Bruce before nodding slowly. "The evidence of the truth has been scattered across the galaxy for the last five years of this earth. There is no question in my mind."_

" _I don't trust her as she is," Banner clarified, folding his arms over his chest. "I mean, she admitted to trying to kill her own sister on multiple occasions."_

" _And my brother has tried to kill me, yet redemption is his," the god interjected softly, a streak of compassion in his eyes. That was true enough; despite the heinous nature of Loki, the fellow still managed to get close to his adoptive brother's good side once more. Perhaps he would be able to turn around things further, if he wished. Banner would always be wary of him (he'd personally seen little growth in his interactions with the trickster), but he was about the last person to suggest someone could not come back from things that had warped them in the past. Strange sank back into his seat, his elbows planted on the arms of his chair as his hands were raised before him. Eyes closed as the palms pressed together, the tips of his fingers resting against his lips briefly. The silence that stretched among the trio was nearly suffocating, but soon enough, the sorcerer arrived at a conclusion, and spoke once again._

" _First of all, I think you all in the outer planes definitely need some extended therapy. Myself included, in some of those as well," he stated bluntly. He shared a dry snicker with Banner, though Thor's brow twitched in slight confusion. However, the god held his tongue as Strange went on, "Secondly, even if it is a lie, there is some truth in it. The Infinity Stones have been something of a thorn in the side of this part of the galaxy too often for it all to be coincidence. Which I'm sure you've concluded well before I did." He cast his glance to both his companions, the pair of them nodding. It was hardly something they could ignore the truth of, even before the warning from Nebula had been delivered. Blowing a deep breath out of his nose, Strange sat up straighter in his seat, his light eyes focusing on the middle distance. "Someone is coming for them, and will come with them, should he or she have the chance. But if this Nebula is to be believed, that it is Thanos...we can't take the risk otherwise. It will be like New York and Sokovia, all over again, but everywhere, all at once."_

 _Grimaces were shared as he let that sink in, let the heart of the matter show. No matter what risks they took for prevention, it remained that the danger was all too real._

" _He'll start with you, all of you, and then move out to the rest of the world," he concluded quietly, the heavy pressure resting on them all then._

" _Yes," Thor breathed, his hand clasped before him as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The seconds ticked by, the reality of the danger hurtling toward them all stealing the words from their mouths. However, the god was not about to be cowed by a threat. He'd come too far in recent months to allow his life, his efforts for this world and his home, be diminished. And he knew the other two likely felt the same. All that remained was to see if they could count on the sorcerer to be a true ally. "Can we count on your aid?"_

 _Doctor Strange remained silent for a few moments, his blue-gray gaze wandering away briefly before returning to them. A light smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, but that was the most he would surrender to it._

" _I'm not sure what good you'd be without it. Yes, I'll help," he agreed, beginning to rise from his seat. As Bruce and Thor did so as well, he held up a palm, his fingers flicking through the air. "But in turn, I will need some help. I can bend realities to an extent, but I cannot exactly break some physical laws of the universe. You'll need someone to get around them. Such as the 'no air in space' law."_

 _Banner inclined his head, curious as to how that obstacle would be met, but Thor merely chuckled._

" _There are ways around that."_

 _Stephen's smirk grew at his words. "Believe me, I'm dying to see what those are."_

 _All three stood then, understanding that they had to act immediately._

" _You go to the base," Thor instructed Banner, determining that going separate ways would be better for them all. "I shall seek out the allies that the synthezoid spoke of. Come to Asgard when you are able."_

 _Within moments, Thor was gone from the library, leaving it to Strange to find a way to get them both to the rest of the Avengers swiftly._

 **xXxXxXx**

Silence reigned in the room, the click of the air in the vents pushing through and stirring the quiet. The gathered Avengers sat in their seats, some of them idly tracking Strange as he walked before the bank of windowed walls, and some fixed their gazes on their hands or the table top. Eventually, one dared to break the silence.

"So that's it, then," Natasha murmured then, her tone flat and her arms crossed over her chest. "This Thanos will be on his way."

Bruce glanced over at her, dipping a nod and sighing, "According to his ex-associate, yes."

"His daughter, apparently. Well, adopted daughter," Strange amended, hands on his hips as he paced the room. The ends of his cape shifted and wafted around his ankles, as if a breeze stirred them, despite the lack of it in the conference room. "Either way, the outcome remains that he's tired of depending upon others to get what he wants, and he'll be coming after them himself. Most likely starting with...that one."

He pointed to the opposite end of the table, all eyes turning to the android standing there. The Vision, in his slacks and sweater, looked composed, though the twitch of his brow indicated otherwise. The gem centered on his forehead glint as he raised his chin, the stone gifted to him by a mad automaton a clear reminder in that instance. What had given him life was something ancient and powerful, which Thor had identified upon his birth. As well as that, it had the potential to be dangerous. He had been the guardian of the stone for two years, but with the rapidly shifting events of the universe, that guardianship was under threat. Worse, it made him a target, and judging by the unyielding nature of his posture, he knew it, too.

While the others looked to him, they failed to noticed the significant glance his electric blue eyes gave to the amulet resting in the center of the sorcerer's chest. He said nothing, but Strange got the distinct impression that, if he had eyebrows, the Vision's would have risen at him. Minutely, he tipped his head in acknowledgment, neither of them saying a word about their exchange.

Steve glanced around the table, his gaze settling on the Vision as well. His jaw ticked for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Thor said the Mind Stone would be safe."

Strange inclined an eyebrow. He wasn't making a judgment call earlier, but was stating a fact. "And it has been, but this is not due to any actions of the Vision's part."

Stark, raking a hand through his own dark hair, let out a short huff, drawing attention onto himself again.

"What's buggin' me is that you all are taking the word of someone who has willingly screwed people over before," he grumbled, hard glances flashing around to the rest of the team. Snorting in derision, he crowed, "This Nebula character's word isn't gold."

"And we're not treating it that way," Rogers retorted, icy eyes meeting his stony dark gaze. He'd heard the same story as the tech genius. He had heard of the creature's own betrayals and vices, admitted by herself. He wasn't foolish enough to be totally taken in by her words of warning, and Tony knew better than to assume the others had, either. Lifting a shoulder, he continued, "Even if the majority is a lie, it still is a matter of urgency."

"It can't be taken lightly," Wanda concurred from her perch, tossing her auburn hair as she sat up straighter.

Sam, from his side of the table, snorted audibly. "No shit, Sherlock."

Bruce rolled his eyes, brushing off the colloquialism. Tony and Strange shared a long look before each cleared their throats and shuffled in their stances. Wanda began to fidget with her rings, the Vision laying a tentative palm on her shoulder. Natasha leaned closer to Bucky just as Scott scrubbed a hand over his face, all of them refusing to be the next one to speak.

Soon enough, though, the new captain found the gumption to do so.

"Let's just call this what it is, then," Barnes broke in, glancing around the gathered team. Crossing his arms over his chest, he exhaled softly, "A call to arms."

It was obvious to him, to all of them, what Banner and the new doctor were asking for: for them to meet the newest threat. They were being called upon to act, much as the original team had been years prior. The gravitas of the situation sat heavily on their shoulders, and it could not be ignored.

"Yes," Bruce asserted, his unassuming tone falling away in the face of the truth. "Whoever is willing to go, we need them. And whoever is willing to stay and protect the earth, should anything happen, they need to be on alert."

Nods ringed the table, and a hand suddenly went up, silent permission to speak asked. Pointing to him silently, Banner and the others waited for the Ant-Man to say his piece.

"How long do we have to get ready for all this?" Lang asked, the typical irreverence in him almost entirely subdued.

"A week. No more than that," Strange stated, a thumb tapping at his hip. Glancing at the gathered company, he canted his head. "Preferably less."

Unconsciously, many eyes in the room began to focus on those who had responsibilities outside of the organization. Scott received a fair amount of looks, but a great deal fell upon the commander. Were he to choose to go, the consequences upon his family would be intense. His wife, his son...his unborn child...could very well be without a husband and a father, and what could he do? Would he be one to stay, or one to go? In his heart, the conflict raged, one side pulling on the other. His face burned as the stares stayed on him for several more seconds, relief only felt when Bruce gave out the last bit of instruction.

"Thor will be meeting us on Asgard to talk further strategy. The bridge will be connected for us whenever we're ready to go."

Chins dipped, and the commander cleared his throat, drawing himself out of his mire.

"Fine. Let's get started, then," Steve said, asserting his authority over the tremble of fear now bubbling in his gut. There was far too much to do, to prepare for in the coming hours, and it was best to get moving while there was still daylight. Standing up, he looked around the room to his team, his friends, and inclined his head. "We've only got a few days; let's make them count."

That pronounced, the others rose up as well, Steve nodding to Bucky to begin brainstorming tasks they would need to undertake. Hill leaned over, asking Rogers to meet with her later in her office, so as to aid her in alerting the secondary team and Fury about the developments of that afternoon.

And underneath it all, Steve stewed, the fear and worry in his stomach mounting as he considered his choices...and as he wondered how on Earth he was going to tell Holly.

* * *

 **A/N:**...How is he going to tell Holly, indeed? Well, that's something you'll have to find out in the next chapter.

I hope the jumping around in the story wasn't too confusing. Yes, I know I compressed and abbreviated (and guessed at) events of _Thor: Ragnarok_ here, but, well...I'm sorry, that's just not my focus in this narrative. Like with _Spider-Man: Homecoming_ when I folded it into the last story, I made a choice to instead focus on a part of the denouement of those events rather than the whole. Still, I hope the summation (exposition, I know) is enough to get by, particularly as the film isn't out yet and there aren't a lot of concrete details available.

I hope the appearance of Doctor Strange has come out alright. Benedict Cumberbatch is wonderful, but I always thought the characters he's played have always been intimidating to write for, so I tried my best. I also chose to make him the one responsible for heading Tony's surgery after the events of _Iron Man 3_ , simply because if Strange really is one of the best surgeons in the country, don't you think Stark most likely would have gone to him for it? I do. Y'know, before the whole hands/soul-searching/becoming a hero thing happened for Stephen...

Yes, I did a 'no shit, Sherlock' reaction between Stark and Strange. Because there is no guarantee that the MCU will humor the fanbase on that, and I wanted to do a cheesy joke. Meh. It entertained me.

As mentioned before, we will be seeing Holly and her reaction to this news in the next chapter, as well as other things.

Lastly, I posted a new chapter for _Down The Hall_ recently. Check it out, if you so choose.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, _Sherlock Holmes_ , etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	4. Chapter 4

The meeting disbanded, the Avengers within going their separate ways to start preparing. Strange, sensing the kinship he shared in part with Wanda (who had been fascinated with his presence since first encounter his aura over a year ago), left with her and the Vision to discuss possible links that could be exploited upon sharing powers. Lang faded away, palming his phone and worrying his bottom lip as he retreated to his rooms. The new captain left the room, silver-plated fingers entwined with the Black Widow's flesh ones, the pair of them looking to one another and engaging in silent discussion. Wilson moved off with Stark and Banner, leaving the commander with Base Director Hill to further lay out plans. The pair of them adjourned to her private office, with her engaging Director Fury and he reaching out the secondary team. They had to be apprised of the situation, since it was clear that the danger was precipitating an "all hands on deck" call.

Joe Chapman and his gathered team took the news about as well as the primary group had. That is to say, with heavy levels of shock and awe. When the news of the looming danger just beyond the horizon, several of them had broken into speech, Finesse muttering about collaborating with Stark to fine-tune satellite contact for security, while Crystal engaged in low-voiced conference with her boyfriend. Pietro nodded to her words, mumbling about what use speed would be out in space, before their field leader called for all of them to hush. Once they had, he decreed that they would have to relay the news to the rest of the roster, and within the next two days, he would get in touch with Rogers and Hill about who would be willing to go to Asgard. They needed a little time, just like their compatriots, and the unease in his eyes was clear, despite the quality of the video call. Acceding to his word, the screen went dark, and the storm inside Rogers had not abated. From her perch behind her desk, Hill reported that Fury and Coulson were both involved in mission work, but they were scheduled to be in by eight in the evening. She would stay in to receive the call, though she dreaded a night with cafeteria leftovers and agent call-ins in the meantime. That barely pulled a smirk from the commander, and she sighed inwardly, knowing full well that would be the case.

The end of the day was drawing near, and Steve felt a slow flush crawl up his neck. Recalling the promise he'd made earlier in the day, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing fast and waiting for the connection to be made. After a couple of rings, the line was picked up, and he felt his eyes close.

"Hey, hon. Picking up Grant early?" Holly asked, the cheerfulness in her tone eradicating the tiredness for once. It made his heart simultaneously thrum and twist as he heard it, followed by disgust with himself since he would be the one taking it away.

Brought back into the moment by a questioning hum on her end, he recalled what she'd wondered, and made himself continue.

"Uh, no," he grunted, bowing his head a little and half-turning toward the door. "Actually, communal dinner is not happening anymore."

With the news delivered, many of the team would be scattered, or tending to their own affairs. It was unlikely that they would get it together in time to eat with one another, and the cancellation had come in hours beforehand.

Raking his free hand back through his hair, he let out a fast breath. "Can you, can you get Grant, and I'll meet you back at the house?"

"Sure," she intoned, and it did nothing to hide the concern in her voice. "What's wrong?"

His spine stiffened then, and he had to swallow to loosen his tongue.

"I can't," he remarked, keeping his voice low despite the room only containing him and Hill. What he had to tell her, he couldn't do over the phone. Over the phone and in a place that housed so many trained to ferret out information. She deserved better than that, always had, and he was not going to make an exception on that. Shaking his head to himself, he amended his statement. "At home."

A pause came from her end of the line, the slow, low breath crawling out of her mouth echoing the the sighs he was repressing.

"Okay. I'll pick him up from daycare," she agreed after a few moments, the concern not abated in the least. Another short pause followed, and then she asked him quietly, "See you in a little while?"

"Yeah," he promised, determining that nothing would keep him from his family that night. Straightening his spine, he told her, "I love you."

"Love you, too," Holly replied, a final farewell given before hanging up. Several seconds passed as he stared at the phone, the darkened screen reflecting the image of his face. The crease in his brow had deepened, and his jaw was stiff, he noted dully, his mind churning on with everything still.

Maria, witness to the entire exchange, tapped a thumb along the edge of her desk, an eyebrow arching at the commander.

"What are you gonna tell her?" the base director wondered, her chin jerking at the phone still in his hand. Lifting a shoulder, he let out a slow breath as he pocketed the device.

"The truth," he professed simply. Hill's eyes widened, and he cupped a hand in the air. Long ago, he had established a personal policy to be honest with his wife. While both understood the necessity of classification and discretion for his work, there were some things he knew better than to hold back on for her. "It's all I have to go with, so..."

His words trailed into the air, dissipating into the quiet. Hill hummed in her throat, her bright eyes watching him avidly.

"Have you decided to stay or go yet?" she inquired, and barely held back on the smirk as he gave her a flat look. Having been with him for the last few hours, she knew full well that he was still undecided.

"No, I haven't," he crowed back, pivoting and pacing the room. Truth was, he was no closer to choosing than he had been when the subject was first broached. The pressure on his shoulders was increasing with each passing second, but he remained torn.

Maria, a pronounced frown on her lips, laid her palms flat on the desk top. "Gotta pick soon, Rogers."

Icy eyes narrowed at her, and he asserted, "I know."

"People will expect you to go, most likely. And you said it yourself, we only have a few days—"

"I know!" Steve barked, his steady control frayed to the point of snapping. Maria looked at him, looked at the visible strain on his person, and held still in her seat. The commander had a great measure of patience, but it seemed that it had reached its end in that moment. Still, the corners of his eyes creased in remorse of his snap, and he even out his tone. "Just...I know."

So much depended on the answer, on the choice that stood before him and his team. Who would stay? Who would go? Who would meet the threat of Thanos head-on, and who would wait in case he managed to break past their first barrier? Both came with the promise of terrible costs, terrible prices, and it could not be taken lightly. However, it could not be put off indefinitely. There was little time to afford to quibbling.

Still, Steve could not make a decision. Not right then. Turning on his heel, he made his way to the door, intent on touching base with whoever he could find downstairs.

"Give me a ring when Fury reports back, same with Coulson," he instructed lightly, keeping his focus on the expanse of glass before him.

"Will do," Maria told him, turning to her computer and the phone beside it as he made to leave. Just as he curled his fingers around the door handle, he was halted by her clearing throat. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he could see the compassion in her gaze, and the sincerity. "Steve, I'm sorry."

Steve swallowed again, dipping his chin in acceptance of her apology before slipping out of the office.

He wandered the halls to the elevator banks, pressing at one of the buttons numbly. Within moments, he was deposited on the correct floor, security clearance granted to him as he entered the housing area of the base. The floor dedicated to the Avengers churned under his feet, his gaze scanning around for his friends. Towards one of the glass walls, he found two of them seated, arm chairs pulled up to look out upon the spring greenery. Their quiet conference dropped as Steve entered the circle, the corner of his mouth barely curving.

"Wilson, Buck," he greeted his friends in turn, grabbing a chair for himself and sitting down. Sam and Barnes cut fast looks to one another, scanning over their leader as he slumped into his seat.

"Hey, Steve," Sam said, Bucky nodding his hellos at the same time. The three men sat together for a long moment, the conversation dropped as they took several minutes to recover and get their bearings. It had been a long day for all of them, and the future promised even more like it.

"Where's Nat?" Steve wondered after awhile, glancing at Bucky. Even in moments of high tension and intensity, the brunet man never strayed far from his girl. And Natasha, while she asserted her independence and strength on a regular basis, generally could be found in the vicinity of the new captain whenever they were both home. Bucky tipped his head to the left, shrugging a bit.

"Making some calls of her own. Said we might need a little more oomph this time around, whatever that means." Though the last portion was said almost flippantly, the corners of Bucky's eyes creased, his tell that he had a very good idea what she meant showing. Before Rogers could press him further, he instead asked his own question. "How are you?"

The commander blinked, his focus suddenly drawn onto his shoes. "'Mfine."

"Bullshit," Wilson cut in then, crossing his arms and shaking his head. When the other two men looked at him, he let his eyebrows incline. "Nobody is 'fine', not with the bombshell that was dropped."

The truth of the statement, accompanied by the unwelcome knowledge all of them personally had with bombshells, made them all repress shudders.

"It is what it is," Steve murmured low, canting his head and looking back up at Sam. "You going?"

The Falcon scrunched up his brow, scratching at the back of his neck. "Maybe. It's what I signed up for, literally. And what kid hasn't dreamed about going to space?"

He smirked at that, causing even Barnes to grin back. Rogers noted that, dipping his chin. After a few seconds, he turned to his oldest friend, an eyebrow arching pointedly at him. The brunet man crossed his arms, the metal plating of his left arm clicking lightly as he did so.

"Waiting to hear on Chapman's team first," he said, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. Exhaling slowly, he muttered, "...I think I will. You?"

Steve met his expectant gaze with one filled with conflict. "I...I can't answer that right now."

"Not actually avoiding a fight, are you? The world must be ending," Barnes said, a joking tone invading his voice. However, Steve shot him a deadpan look and scoffed audibly.

"Not funny, Buck," he groaned, the cutting edge inside him apparent in that instant. It cut both Bucky and Sam to the quick, though it did not surprise them. The long silence among them was almost suffocating at that point, the calm disguising the discontent poorly.

"Steve, it's your choice. Go or don't; it's up to you," Bucky told him quietly, meaning it. Whether his friend chose to stay or go, the team would be able to work. For nearly two years, Rogers held himself back from entering every fray, his devotion to his family outweighing the need to be the greatest defender of the world. He was their defender now, and he had let Barnes take on his mantle. As a field leader, the brunet man had studied and worked closely with his teammates, understood their strengths and weaknesses well. He would most likely go, partially to meet the call he'd been charged with since Steve had stepped down, and to make calls of his own.

As he'd said, the choice was his. And Bucky knew full well the importance of choice in one's life.

The blond man smirked ruefully, scratching at his beard before ducking his head. "Sounds so simple."

Wilson snorted at that, elbows braced on his knees as he leaned forward and linked his hands together.

"We all know that's a lie," he muttered, shooting him a significant look. "Good luck with telling Holly."

"Thank you," Steve replied simply. Shrugging, he returned the sentiments. "Same to you, with Kay."

Sam finally cracked a true grin at that.

"Thanks, man. Odds are, she'll probably line the outside of the house with barbed wire and sandbags, and sit on the front porch with her guns and just wait out an attack there after I do."

The three men shared weak chuckles at the picture he painted. Sam's girlfriend, though an agent in her own right, had far more up her sleeve than guns and sandbags. The young Asian-American woman was an Inhuman, literal incredible strength rippling through her form. She out-bench pressed the super-soldiers on a regular basis; supplemented by her training, it was highly likely she would make an island of the home the two rented in the nearby village.

"Maybe," Rogers conceded, his smile waning as he leaned back in his chair, his friends following suit.

With the work day drawn to a close, and no real progress made beyond weapons and tech tune-ups, Steve took his leave of the base. Hill forwarded the word that Fury and Coulson would be addressed their separate agents and teams about the new developments, along with the promise of calling as soon as Chapman's team made decisions in regards to staying Earth-side or not. The fifteen minute drive home seemed almost interminable, the hum of the engine filling the silence of the cab (he'd switched the radio off as soon as he got in, not wishing to have the noise accompanying that in his brain). As he got to the familiar gravel drive, he slowed his truck down to almost a crawl, taking in the sight of his house as he made his way along the property. The slate blue paint meeting the off-white trim, the wooden slats and steps of the front porch, and the stretch of lawn met his eye, curving to the broad side of paneling and sturdy construction as he made his way around to the garage. Parking, he rested against the seat, gathering his faculties as the engine pinged and cooled down. Drawing upon his courage, he snatched up his jacket and keys, his shield taken from the harness behind his seat. Slowly, his boots sank against the grass before making his way to the back door. Punching in the code, he entered the house.

"Holly?" Steve called out, hovering just inside the room and absorbing the warmth of his home. It penetrated the coldness within him, little by little, and he waited to hear her.

"We're in here," was the reply, and he let out a deep sigh. Placing his shield and jacket atop the nearest counter, along with his keys, he slowly paced across the kitchen, through the arch and to the living room. The room was relatively tidy, with only a few coloring books thrown across the coffee table and some toys ringing the bookshelves. Holly sat on the couch, her back shoved into a corner as she watched out for the little guy. He was toddling around, one hand braced on the edge of the coffee table and the other reaching for Bonnie as she trotted around. When he came into view, both mother and child looked to him, though the wife's tired pleasure seemed to dim at the drawn look on his face.

"Daddy!" Grant cried, all smiles upon his return. Swiftly, Steve pushed his lips into a grin, and he half bent to pat the corgi's head when she bounded up to him.

"Hey, little man," he greeted his boy, his grin staying on his lips as the small dog jogged back to a rope toy that was on the floor. Holding out his hands to the child, he continued, "Gimme a big hug, huh?"

Grant smiled away, unsteadily running over to his father with his arms wide open.

"Yeah! Big hug!" he cried, giggling as Steve swept him up and his small hands clasp around his neck. Steve bent his head closer, breathing deeply before he let the little guy pull back slightly, meeting his matching blue gaze.

"You were a good boy at daycare?" he inquired, easily slipping into the motions of asking the question he normally asked the boy every day he'd been brought to there.

"Uh-huh," Grant replied, nodding enthusiastically. Twisting in his father's arms, he pointed to the coffee table, where a folded piece of paper sat. Flapping his hand, he murmured, "Made picture."

Steve let the corners of his mouth curl higher, and he put his son back on the ground.

"Wow. Show me," he said, determinedly keeping his tone light. As the little guy tromped to the table, he caught the look Holly was shooting him over Grant's head. The grin on her face did not reach her eyes, and the irises were lined with concern. Clearing his throat, Steve squatted down when Grant came back with the picture he'd made in daycare. At his age, it was no Monet piece, but he couldn't help but be pleased with the effort. Steve knew for a fact that the boy's motor skills were slightly ahead of his age group, but still, he couldn't be expected to do more than colorful blobs. Which was exactly what he did: one was blue with yellow atop it, the next was wide and green but capped with brown, on a green field and a darker blue blob sat to the side. Another brown blob was close to the bottom of the page, no doubt signifying Bonnie. Crooking an arm around the little guy, he complimented, "That's really nice, buddy. Is this me?"

He pointed at the blob with yellow atop it, and Grant dipped his chin. Jabbing a finger at the character next to it, with brown 'hair' and what appeared to be a distended stomach—both sporting what looked to be facsimiles of pink bows—he smiled.

"Mama, Sis," he named them off, and Steve felt the pang in his heart thud a little harder.

"Already got your little sister in there," he breathed, struggling to keep his smile in place. Gently, he combed through the boy's sandy hair, poking him in the cheek and making him giggle. "Good job."

The boy soaked in the praise, squealing a little when Steve gave a light tickle to his belly. Patting his beard once, Grant toddled away then, humming happily as he trotted over to the corner of the room containing his tiny bean bag chair and box of toys. Holly's dark eyes tracked him, one hand rest absently on her stomach. Her husband joined her on the couch, the composure of his face sliding into a frown.

"He was so excited to show you," she said to Steve, smiling fondly as Grant began to bob around the horse his Auntie Nat had gifted to him some time ago. As he babbled in his play, and Bonnie began to paw at the carpet under the coffee table, she sighed, her pleased expression dropping upon spotting Steve's frown. Reaching out a hand, she tangled her fingers with her husband's, the worry in her eyes tripling. "Steve, what's wrong?"

The storm in his blue eyes clouded again as he cut his gaze back to their son. Though he was growing fast, and likely wouldn't understand the majority of what he had to tell Holly, he knew the conversation would be emotional and difficult. Grant would most likely only know a few words, but he would definitely be able to understand tones. Steve couldn't do it, not when he already knew he would be upsetting his wife. Letting out a slow breath, he shook his head.

"Later. When he's in bed," he stated softly, eyes turning back to his wife and imploring her to agree. He had spotted the bristle rippling up her back, the one that spoke of her impatience, but the concern had remained. If anything, it shined even brighter in her dark eyes. Clicking her tongue, she passed her free palm over her face and groaned under her breath.

"Okay," she agreed, giving his fingers a squeeze. "But, for the record: you are scaring the crap out of me right now, and if this is something not as bad as you're making it out to be, I'll kick your a—erm, butt."

The last was an amendment, with her curbing her tongue in an effort to stop Grant from learning curse words too early. Normally, it would have made Steve chuckle, or at the very least give her a poorly-hidden grin, but that day, all humor was absent. And that made her heart quake even more. Just what was going on with him?

Seeing the question in her gaze, he shook his head again. "Doll. Please."

It was his last bid at normalcy that evening, a few hours left to them to still act as the family they had become over the past two years. He needed that, just for then, before he took it away from them all. She dipped her chin once more, purposefully, and then she patted his cheek, fingers lingering along his scruff as she began to get off the couch. It was time to get dinner started, and while it was actually Steve's turn to make it, she chose to undertake the endeavor. Left in the living room with his son and the corgi, the blond man slid to the floor, alternating playing with Grant and tossing a tennis ball for Bonnie's benefit.

Dinner was simple, and Holly had done the majority of the talking, telling him about the day she had at work. The archives were implementing a new cataloging system, and had started tagging the most recently acquired files, working backwards in time. The project could take a few months, at least, and her coworker Todd had expressed jealousy that her maternity leave would fall somewhere in the middle of it and free her. As well as that, she'd scheduled the next doctor's appointment with Dr. Watson in Saratoga Springs for the following Friday, unknowingly twisting Steve's heart with the announcement. In between eating, he kept an eye on Grant, making sure he wasn't throwing food around as he hummed and chuckled weakly at her stories. Bonnie, sensing something amiss, sniffed at his legs, paws bracing along the shins and nuzzling him on and off without begging for food once. When the meal was finished and the dishes loaded in the dishwasher, the blond man took the corgi outside, her final ablutions in the yard met as he stared up at the sky.

The gloaming had revealed a few sparse stars through the trees, the shining dots suddenly less distant than they'd always seemed to be. If he chose, he would be going to one of those stars, he mused silently. Man going to space had been a distant dream in his childhood, but had been a reality for decades when he'd woken up again. He could be one of those.

If he chose.

A slick slide of dread dropped into his stomach, his dinner sitting like a lead weight then. Swallowing against the knot in his throat, he called Bonnie back to him when she'd finished, both returning to the house in time for Holly to set up a television show. It was slightly more recent than his forays with Lucille Ball—about a paper company in Pennsylvania chosen for a documentary—and it had its moments, taking him out of himself as the lead played yet another prank on his annoying coworker. Grant slowed down a bit in his play, with him eventually requesting to be held and snuggling against his father's chest as bedtime approached. After a couple of episodes, they both took him upstairs, Holly turning back the covers in preparation and Steve getting him in his pajamas. Within minutes of good-night kisses and being laid down in his crib, he was out, one hand curled around the edge of his blanket and his little breaths puffing out his nose.

"He's down for now," she murmured as they quickly withdrew from the room and went back downstairs. Steve could only nod in response as she found her way around the couch. Bonnie had gotten onto the sofa in their absence, lounging happily. Both adults sat on either side of the animal, each doling out pats as they settled into the cushions. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she smirked at him. "Better spill quick, Rogers."

For a long moment, Steve froze in his seat, his gaze focused on a point on the far wall as his jaw ticked. Holly, murmuring softly to the dog to get down, felt her hands wringing in her lap, before the hem of her blouse fell prey to the pads.

"Steve, what is it?" she asked, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee. Looking down at it, he curled his much larger fingers around hers, toying with them for a few seconds before drawing breath. Starting with Bruce's sudden arrival at the base—and confirming that the alarms in the middle of the day had been for that, as she'd heard about it down in archives—he let his tongue trip over the news he and his new associate had brought with them. The summation of the creature approaching his friends, sending them as messengers about an impending threat against themselves and the earth, was met with silence. The Infinity Stones were glossed over, but the power behind them was something he could not keep from her. Holly was wide-eyed and breathing quickly as he confessed that all those in the occupation of defending the world would have to inevitably take a stand, and soon, rolled over her.

"And have they...have they called Nomad?" she asked, her voice tremulous and her breathing uneven. At the reference to the code that had been agreed upon by the team, the one that denoted that last reinforcements and himself had to come in, he canted his head in the negative.

"No. No, they haven't. We've got a few days, like I said, and the choice of who will stay and who will go is still up in the air right now," he countered, shifting closer to her on the couch. Inhaling deeply, he went on, "I just, I wanted you to know, just in case..."

"In case you choose to go," she retorted, red flushing into her face as her lips thinned. The blankness had slid away, giving way to a frustration that had been bubbling below the surface. Steve blinked rapidly as she pushed away from him, her shuffle off the couch happening far more quickly than it had in past instances.

"Holly," he said, trying to preempt the fall-out that was inevitable now.

"What kind of choice is this? Leave, and hopefully save the world, or stay, and be the last defense if things out there go wrong," she veritably growled, fingers threading back through her loose waves, fluffing it up as she dropped them. Her face was creased in anger, but it was not that that made Steve alert. It was the deep fear in her irises. "What the hell were Thor and Bruce thinking, forcing this all on you guys? What in the actual fu—oh, God."

The sudden blanching of her face alarmed Steve then, as well as the bend at the waist and her grip on the back of the arm chair. A flash of memory, of her telling him about the panic attack she'd succumbed to after he'd nearly died two years ago, ripped through him, and he thought that it might have looked like this. He was on his feet swiftly, going to her. Prying her hand from the chair, it latched onto his shirt, almost tearing it as she slumped against him. His heart quaked as he looped one arm around her back, his other palm bracing with hers against her pregnant swell.

"Holly, Holly, sweetheart. Sit, breathe," he said, his words rushed as he guided her to sit on the sofa again. The palm along her back slid up to her neck, the pads of his fingers rubbing tenderly into the skin as she shook. "The baby...the baby needs you to not—"

Steve cut himself off, unable to make himself to say the worst that could await her or their unborn child. Heeding his words, Holly forced herself to breathe deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth as she tried to get herself under control. Pregnancy itself was doing her no favors in regards to that; the swings were still fairly intense when they did swing, and she could feel the thrum in her veins as she considered the situation in her mind. Deep down, she knew she was being unfair to Thor and Bruce, that they were merely messengers. Despite having few details, she understood the current situation to be one of the gravest the others would face, one way or another. The world could hang in the balance, and she knew that, too. However, it was difficult to rationalize that thought process when all she could think about how great the damages could be, and what it all would cost them in the end.

"I just...there's so much more at stake now," she croaked, unable to hold back any longer. "Our son, our daughter...if you go, and something bad happens...if you...she might never know you. And he'll miss you terribly, and I'll..."

Her eyes closed then, droplets falling onto her cheeks. She felt choked, unable to tell of the intense grief and horror she felt at the idea of her worst nightmare becoming a higher probability. Then she considered the other side of the coin, and let her head fall into her hands.

"And if you don't go, everyone will think—"

"Stop right there," Steve broke in immediately, his brow furrowing at the thought she was voicing. Gently, he tugged her closer, a finger coming under her chin and raising it from her palms. "I don't give a damn what everyone else thinks about this, or will think. My decision will never be based on what other people's perception of me is."

Her shoulders slumped at that. She comprehended that a long time ago, that the public's general opinion did not dictate his life (their lives, since she'd made a similar resolution upon entering a relationship with him), no matter what he chose to do. Of course, they could get under his skin once in awhile, but they did not control his life. Taking another few seconds to breathe, she eventually tipped her head up fully.

"I know that, but...I also know you," she muttered softly, red-rimmed eyes looking at him. The corner of her mouth curled briefly, before fading in the face of the truth. "You've been involved in this since before we met. I know you'll want to see this through, know for sure that you can stop this with everyone."

Steve met her gaze squarely, any denial he could have formed dying in that instant. Despite not knowing it at the time, he'd been fighting for and around an Infinity Stone since the war. It was, in certain lights, the only reason why he was involved in the war in the first place. It had inadvertently brought him to enlistment, to the attention of Dr. Erskine, and to his eventual future with the Avengers. It had started so long ago, and if he, along with the team, could defeat the being coming for them and push them beyond the realm of the earth, it could be ended. However, the risks were so great that she could not begin to ignore them. And not just for her sake.

"But...Grant, and the baby..." she trailed off, palms pressing into her bump.

"And you. You, doll," he stated plainly, reinforcing her importance to him as well. Whatever he did, he would be doing it for them, for her; all that remained was what level of danger he would be putting himself in. Her gaze flicked away, and he cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing over her skin. A few more stray tears leaked from her eyes, and soon enough she was gathered up in his arms. Awkward as the positioning could be due to her pregnant belly, he still held her. Her face pressed into his shoulder, and his cheek rested against her hair. Running his palms up and down her back, he nearly whispered, "I know. _Mo chro_ _í_ , I know. Believe me, I can't stop thinking about it. I haven't stopped since this afternoon."

The stress in his voice, the contained agitation and forced control hit Holly then, made the churn in her stomach increase. As she had said, she knew him very well, knew he had been agonizing over what to do even as he made commands and started preparing with the others. His duty and obligation to his vocation was warring with those to his family and his home, especially as picking one would be more likely to protect the other. A light thump rebounded along her belly, the baby within her seemingly responding to the news and putting in her own two cents. For several minutes, they sat wrapped in each other's embrace, the looming fear and horror just beyond. When her shaking subsided, and she felt she had at least a minor hold on her emotions, Holly leaned back, a finger running along his bearded jaw.

"Well, you aren't going anywhere tonight, right?" she asked, sniffing hard.

"No. I'm here," he affirmed, tucking loose strands of her hair behind her ear. "And my decision still isn't made. There's still a little time."

Another sniff, and then she dipped her chin in finality.

"We'll, we'll have to make the most of it, then," she pronounced carefully. Removing herself from his grasp, she swiped at her cheeks and scooted to the edge of the couch. "But for now, we should probably go to bed."

A forlorn expression creased his features, but Steve nodded as well. "Okay."

That said, the young woman pushed herself off the sofa, moving to the stairs and mentally preparing for a night filled with difficulty sleeping. She'd gone up a step or two before she realized that she'd gone to the stairs alone, and that her husband was still perched in his spot, blue eyes trailing her as she went. Pausing, she cocked her head.

"You coming?" Holly wondered, bracing against the handrail and looking at him pointedly.

Steve blinked, mouth opening slightly before he dropped his gaze to his hands.

"I thought that, well, maybe you wouldn't..." he trailed off as he spun his wedding ring around his finger. Holly's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline as she realized what he was doing. He'd thought that, after being told about the evil on the doorstep, of him possibly going to meet it off-world, she would refuse to have him near her. He'd expected to be sleeping in the downstairs bedroom/office that night, maybe even until he made his choice.

At once, she shook her head, walking back down the few steps and coming around the couch in front of him again.

"Steven, no. Come to bed with me," she said, holding out her hands to him. Fingers threaded together as he stood up, and she was tugged into his embrace again. She closed her eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, the tremors of their bodies mixing in that moment. Quietly, she iterated, "I need you there. We both do."

A few moments of quiet enfolded him, only broken by the slight nod of his head. The weight of the day had settled fully on him, and he felt exhausted. Holly too was tired, too tired to stay up and aware of the questions of what the next day would bring. With the house locked down, the pair went up to the second floor, both of them tip-toeing past the small dog nestled in her bedding in the hall. They traded off changing and brushing their teeth, with her in bed before him, locking onto him as he snapped lights off and made sure the monitor to Grant's room was on. The final lamp on the bedside table remained on, silently asserting his wish to not mire themselves in darkness. Climbing under the sheets, he laid on his side facing her, and she followed suit, hands becoming entwined again as they shuffled near to one another. The click of the ventilation resounded, accompanied by a creak or two of the house settling. Exhausted gazes ran over one another, as if memorizing each curve and dip of their faces, their bodies even when swathed in sheets.

"Steve?" Holly's voice was low, just above a whisper.

"Yeah?" Steve replied, just as softly. She bit her lip then, scrunching up her brow and causing the scar above the right one to all but disappear. Whatever was on her mind, she was clearly hesitant to speak it. His palms moved down, cupping at her waist and bringing her closer still. The swell of her stomach rested against his, and one hand moved back up to cup her cheek. Savoring his touch for a few moments, she inhaled slowly.

"...I'm scared," she confessed, her words a mere thread in the air. She closed her eyes again, and turned to press her lips to his wrist. The simple kiss made him shiver, drew out the honesty inherent in him.

"Me, too," he breathed, leaning forward and brushing his lips against her forehead in a peck. Sleep did not come easily to either of them, and the couple contented themselves with pecks and light touches until they fell into slumber, souls not in the least calm.

* * *

 **A/N:** Early chapter this week, because...I have no self-control. Sorry, I was bitten by the writing bug for this chapter, and couldn't stop. Next week, I believe I will be sticking to the Thursday/Friday schedule I have established, but we'll see. Work is a little slow this month, so it's possible I could pull off another early chapter. We'll see.

So Steve breaks the news to Holly, right after getting the ball rolling with the secondary team. I tried not to make Holly too irrational, or come off as a raging bitch. Please, bear in mind that she is pregnant—a highly stressful and highly emotional state of being for any woman to be in—and, as she has stated in the chapter, she has seen him make sacrifices for the world time and again. As well as that, she is concerned for their son and their baby, because if Steve dies, Grant and the little girl would lose their father before having the chance to grow up and know him (sound familiar?). If wanting to keep her husband home and safe is selfish, then I guess she is. Still, she has not demanded he choose one way or another; she has an obvious preference, but she's realistic enough to know what his choice could be. She understands Steve and his unerring commitment to his duties, truly. It's just a tough situation, y'all.

Next chapter will feature Steve's ultimate decision to stay or go, and see off those departing.

I have a little poll up on my page, and it's open for voting. Check it out and let me know what you think.

The one bit of Irish Gaelic Steve uses translates to "my heart."

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	5. Chapter 5

Peter Parker jogged up the steps to the lobby of the Avengers Tower. In spite of Tony's absence over the last few days, he was still required to come in and do his job as his personal lab assistant. He'd had to cry off due to a string of house invasions the neighborhood over from his, Spider-Man stepping in to stop them. Unfortunately, the pursuit lasted a couple of days, and while he could not skip school, lab hours were something he knew he could make up for. And so he would that day, looking at it as a reward for his labors as he'd hopped the train on that Saturday morning.

The tower was ascended with ease, security points passed without any difficulty. Having an in with the owner definitely had its perks, Parker thought, snickering to himself as he stepped off the last one, taking the turn and heading to the private lab he was assigned to. He had a few personal projects to tend to, and it wouldn't be good to be preempted by the system. The sense at the back of his mind—what he was beginning to call his 'spider sense' —itched before he reached the threshold, and his shoulders immediately tightened. Coming up to the glass door, he felt his body simultaneously relax and lock into surprise when he looked through it. Hastily, he jabbed at the digital security pad, the pass-codes clicking fast and letting him in.

Standing in front of his work bench, pawing through the tools in an absentminded fashion, was his employer.

"Tony!" he cried, quickly snapping the door shut behind him. Flapping a hand to the lab, he murmured, "I thought you were gonna be up north for the next few weeks."

The billionaire turned at his entrance and grinned at him, but it was easy to tell that it did not reach his eyes.

"Some stuff came up," he replied, setting down the wrench that he'd been fiddling with. Jerking a thumb over at the computer bank, he breathed, "Come with me; you need to sit in on this, too."

Curious about his mentor's return home, about his appearance in the private lab assigned to him and the significant lack of humor in his form, Peter nodded his compliance, dropping his backpack on the steel table and traipsing after him. About to offer to type in the security codes, he was pulled up short by Tony swiftly plugging in a hard drive. Overrides flooded the system, JJ granting temporary access to the tech genius. Fingers tapped swiftly through the applications, pulling up the video call function as he secured the privacy on the device. Sighing, the teenager raked a hand back through his hair, coming up behind the chair Stark had appropriated and braced himself. Noticing the name on the list Tony had clicked, he blew out a sharp breath.

Perhaps it was about time to get in touch with the Defenders.

The Defenders, Parker had learned, were a sort of off-shoot for the two main teams. However, instead of attending to the world's issues, they stuck to New York City. The boroughs were in desperate need of aid since after the explosions in Hell's Kitchen a few years ago, and the four of them had been taking it upon themselves to do so. Due to working exclusively in Queens, it was deemed best that Peter be apprised of their efforts via the commander and Tony. The one called Iron Fist had been the most open about meeting him, but the other three were wary. Granted, that was mostly due to his age (Luke Cage seemed especially bothered by it, same with Murdock; Jessica rolled her eyes and merely stated that she wasn't going to hold his hand or change his diapers) but given his work in the past, they were willing to put it further down their lists.

Besides, he would be eighteen at the end of June, anyway; he wasn't going to sweat the disparities too much at that point.

As it was, only Cage and Murdock were available for Stark's call, something billionaire had tried to do since they became allied with the Avengers at least once a month. Although, Peter was sure he'd called them last week before he left for the base...

Peter shook his head to himself as greetings were exchanged. Murdock reported that Jones and Rand were off investigating a disturbance off of Red Hook, and would make it back in time. Having no issue with that, Stark proceeded to explain his early return to the city. Sworn to the strictest confidence, and with authority given to only inform the missing teammates about the information about to be imparted. What his boss had to say left him literally speechless.

A threat beyond the earth was coming, determined to destroy it should demands not be met. The god of thunder himself had sent on Doctor Banner to report it, that a mad warrior was on his way through the universe to find and take power. There was no telling how long they had to meet the threat and neutralize it, and they had to act fast to get a game plan together. The primary Avengers team would be on their way by the following morning, but in case anything got dicey, it would be on the ones left behind. To their credit, Murdock and Cage took the news fairly well, as neither had any horrid outbursts or shutdowns.

The sense of unease permeated the air, though, and Peter couldn't help but feel his throat constrict slightly.

"So, in essence, you're going to space," Murdock breathed, skepticism lacing heavily in his voice. An eyebrow spiked above the rim of his dark glasses, and he snorted. "To try and stop another hostile alien force."

Tony exhaled sharply, but murmured a confirmation after a second or two. The fellow's response was at least calmer than Rhodey's had been when he informed him what was going on. (Though retired, the Air Force colonel was still connected well with others in service, and Stark felt it prudent to put him on alert in case things got out of control. Rhodey could be first contact if the forces beyond the earth found their way to the planet.) For several seconds, only the distant hum of the various pieces of electronic equipment cut through the quiet. Digesting the news, the two men on the opposite end of the line sighed.

"Well, maybe the government won't threaten nukes this time if you guys manage to keep the fight out there," Luke posited after awhile, smirking broadly as he crossed his arms. Stark snorted audibly, and canted his head.

"Yeah, that is a trip I don't care to repeat," he remarked, his expression deadpan. Scratching at the back of his neck, he cleared his throat and continued, "The secondary team will be staying behind, so if you need to make any coordinating efforts, contact them. After that, contact Director Fury. He will also be staying Earth-side."

As well as that, he told them that of the main team, Ant-Man would remain as well, the Vision along with him. What was being sought out in the cosmos directly affected the android, but the tech genius would not say why. Instead, he spoke of another who would be going between the city and beyond, a doctor who would be connecting them all in the coming days, if needed.

"When do you think you'll get back?" Cage wondered, Murdock nodded along with the question.

Stark shrugged. "Dunno. There's no time-table for it. Hopefully before a year, but I don't think it's possible to put a date on this."

The vision-impaired fellow on the other end dipped his chin. "Fair enough. Stakes are higher, but otherwise, we'll be in the city. Just workin'. Good luck."

"Thanks, you, too."

With a final farewell, the two men on the other end cut their feed, leaving the occupants at the lab in quiet. Stark turned to Peter then, holding back a chuckle at the agog look on the teenager's face.

"I can't believe it. You're going into space. Space. And be on an alien world and everything," he breathed, the enormity of what his mentor was about to do dawning on him. Along with the immense pride, he felt the stick of worry underneath it (the hint of jealousy was pushed away, not to be acknowledged). Resting his hip against the table, he mumbled, "Man..."

Stark gave him a few seconds to mull over the content of the video chat before he scratched at his goatee, lifting a shoulder.

"That's right. And you will keep watching out over Queens while we're gone," he said, sounding almost like a parent instructing the babysitter to have the little one in its charge in bed by nine. Cutting his dark gaze away, a smile played along his lips. "And, oh yeah, you've been upgraded to Junior Avenger status."

The young man blinked, his jaw hanging open at the news. After a few moments, he choked out, "What?"

The billionaire met his gaze squarely, tilting his head to the side.

"Pete. You've more than proved your worth over the last couple of years. I trust you, and more to the point, the team trusts you. Here," he relayed, reaching into a nearby drawer and removing manilla folder. Handing it to the teenager, he sat back in his chair and watched Peter open it. Atop a sheaf of what appeared to be some highly-secretive and legal documents was an I.D. card. A head-shot taken from his photography website had been used, his name and an official number attached beneath it. A chip was attached at the end, and he picked it up. Examining it for a few seconds, he flicked his gaze onto Tony, his eyebrows rising. The billionaire jabbed a finger at it, and stated, "This card allows you access to the base, as well as more secure floors here. And, if Chapman's team needs an extra set of hands, you have authorization to go. Look, even has Hawley approval and everything."

That was true; the Avengers representative for the United Nations had her signature on the card, as well as the documents ascertaining his change in status in the folder. Peter could hardly believe it, even as he held the evidence in his hands. Coughing hard against the tightening in his throat, seriousness creased his face as he looked up at Tony again.

"Thank you," he intoned, the gravity and gratefulness in his voice warring against one another. Palming the card, he shoved it into his back pocket, near his wallet for safe-keeping. "I promise, I won't let any of you down."

The older man gave him a rueful grin, and shrugged.

"Just do your best, kid. That's all." Standing, Stark crossed over to the kid, a little taken aback by the growth Peter exhibited over the last couple of years. Not in height—he was eye-level with the tech genius, and had been since they first met—or other physical ways. The teen, the young man, had become more than the weird kid who climbed into a ceiling to get a good picture, or the lost boy barely able to hold himself together after the loss of his family. He had become more of himself, his definition as a person showing as much as his expressive face or wiry build did.

Tony was proud of him, and would be proud of the man he would eventually grow into. Clapping his shoulder no longer seemed to be the appropriate response to the situation, so he changed course midway, giving the teenager a true hug. Thumping his back a couple of times with a closed fist, the older man stepped away soon enough, a ragged breath pouring out of his nose. Dipping his chin once more, he stepped around the teenager, giving him the chance to process everything on his own time. However, when he reached the threshold of the room, he paused.

"And, as a favor to me...keep an eye on Pepper, will ya?" he asked the younger fellow, not quite meeting his gaze. What he was asking would be no sinecure, but even with Happy on security detail, he wanted to be sure that his wife would be in other hands. Enhanced hands, as it were, just in case. Nonchalantly, he cupped a hand in the air, muttering, "Just touch base with her, make sure she's still around on occasion."

Parker inclined his head, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. "Okay, Tony."

Stark felt the corner of his mouth turn up, and his palm rapped against the door jamb. "Alright. I'll have my AI get in touch with your AI, then. Further hammer out details."

And with a two-fingered salute, he was gone. Left to his own devices, Peter swallowed against the hard lump that had been present in his throat since Stark had hugged him. Plopping down onto the nearby stool, he sniffed hard, scrubbing idly at his red-rimmed eyes for a few seconds before pulling himself up to the computer. If he was going to remain on his own for an indefinite amount of time, he had to prepare. His suit needed a few calibrations, anyway, and there was no time like the present to get those plotted out.

The elevator took Stark to his private suite of rooms, the older man blowing out a slow breath as he exited the conveyance. Within moments he was inside his tower penthouse, the dark woods and chrome finishes paling at the edges of his mind as he focus was pulled to the far sitting area. Music was playing softly on the overhead system, and a lone figure stood in front of the glass wall overlooking the city skyline. He suppressed another sigh, instead striding into the room with at least a modicum of his normal swagger.

Tony was not about to avoid Pepper, not on his last night home for God knew how long.

When he'd fessed up, told her the truth about what was going on and his insistence on traversing to Asgard, she had reacted much as he thought she would: with indignation and extreme concern (possibly with a dash of panic, but he couldn't be too sure about that, since the other two heavily overrode any other emotions). She'd taken the private jet back immediately following their call, and she'd spent the better part of the flight and the evening trying to argue him out of it. There was too much for him to leave behind, to give up. He tempered his own irritation as best he could, ultimately saying that the only way he could do good by the world was to go.

Tony had dreamed of this nightmare, and instead of cowering in a corner with his therapist, he was going to meet it head-on. Suffice it to say, the king-sized bed had served its purpose, since both retreated to their sides and the wideness allowed them not to touch while they slept. And he got the worst sleep he'd had since his anxiety issues began.

Now, a few days on, the raging waters had calmed, at least marginally. She'd been helping him set his affairs in order, his will amended and signed off by them and his lawyer the day before. Little conversation passed between them, but Pepper never strayed far from his side, never left off the small touches to his arms and back as they struggled to complete things before he left. That morning, she had her own errands to attend to, and he'd taken advantage of her absence to get Peter and Murdock's motley crew up to speed.

Even from across the apartment, he could see the hard line of her shoulders, the tenseness in her back, and he decided he would still have to tread cautiously.

"I know you're probably still mad," he began, spreading his hand wide and tilting his palms up. Scoffing at himself, he went on, "Hell, I'd be pissed, too. But, I mean, it's the last day I'm here, and I don't wanna leave with you still—"

At once she turned, facing him fully. The edges of her bright eyes were red, but her face was clear. Her arms were crossed low, over her stomach, and one hand toying with a folded sheet of paper. She cut him off with a shake of her head, sighing through her nose.

"Tony, that's not...I'm not mad. Well, not very mad," Pepper asserted, the amendment at the end given a tiny grin. The red-gold strands of her ponytail wafted in the air, and she crossed her arms. Her stance, though rigid, did not touch her eyes. Deep sadness, touched with a hint of fear, was there, but there was no ire to speak of. Evidently, she'd gotten most of it out of her system a few days ago, after he'd informed her of what was going on. And then again when he told her that he'd be going with the rest of the team. Coughing once, she let her grin fall in the face of sincerity. "We've gotta talk."

"Oh, God, that's never a good sentence to hear," he groaned, trying to cover up his distress with a dry smile. The set of her countenance did not waver, and she sat down on the couch, hands in her lap and fidgeting with the folded sheet of paper she still held.

Nodding to the open cushion beside her, she nearly whispered, "Anthony, please."

The gravity of her request stemmed any sardonic retort he could have conjured, and so he nodded.

"Alright," he replied instead, sitting down beside her and taking her free hand in his. Pepper gave the command for JJ to put on the high-level privacy protocols for the apartments, sealing off the place without a hint of sound escaping as she relayed her own news to him.

Even if she hadn't asked for them to be put up, the protocols would not have been necessary. When she finished speaking, Tony Stark was gobsmacked.

Gobsmacked, and utterly silent.

 **xXxXxXx**

The final day accorded to the departing Avengers was given over to them, and Steve Rogers was more than willing to take advantage of it. The Saturday after Bruce's arrival, he'd woken, determined to make that last day a good one for his family. Pointedly, he turned his phone off, kept his earpiece on the dresser, and told the AI monitoring the house to leave social and personal notifications off for the day. Holly, not ignorant of his plans, went along with them, bundling up their boy in the truck at his request after breakfast. Once the corgi was clipped into a seat harness as well, he drove them all into the nearby town.

The bulk of the morning was spent at the small park, the one they had rented the pavilion of for Grant's birthday several months ago. A few other families had found their way there, the parents whispering a little upon recognizing the commander, but the children approached Grant with no issues as he waddled around the sandbox, chortling in absolute delight when his daddy sat with him and dug around, too. Holly brought Bonnie around on her leash, playing as much as her pregnant body would allow. After eating lunch at Roscoe's, the diner on Main Street, they went for a long walk around town, Grant napping in their packed stroller as Steve steered it. He kept pace with his wife, soaking in the feel of her free hand wrapping around his bicep, anything and everything under the sun discussed as they walked.

Well, almost everything.

The warmth of the spring day, the warmth of his son and wife, wrapped around him even as the late afternoon came upon them, and it was time to head back home. There were a few things left to take care of at the house, and he would help Holly set it to rights. In the truck, she told him her mother had offered to come out early to help prepare her for their daughter, and Steve nodded, murmuring that perhaps she could come out quite a bit earlier, if she liked. Nothing was set, but it was something Holly could keep in mind.

Once back at the slate-blue house, Holly placed Grant in the playpen, toys strewn about as the parents went about a couple of different chores. Bonnie followed Steve upstairs, nosing at his legs and receiving a fond pat as he stood at the dresser. His digital camera, having been taken out a day or two beforehand, resting in his hand, a finger tapping against it as he examined it. Sighing softly, he opened up the little hatch on the side, pulling out the memory card. From his back pocket came an envelope (filched from the box of them in the junk drawer in the kitchen), and he dropped the card into it. Sealing it, he next took up a pen from Holly's nightstand, scrawling the date and a warning not to open it before the right time atop it. Tossing the pen away, he coughed once as he plodded over to the walk-in closet, reaching up and grabbing a box from the shelf. It was coated in red lacquer, and in it dwelt the few treasures of his life. His father's Purple Heart rested there, along with the love letters he'd sent to his mother. His old compass was pinned to Holly's first draft chapter, and photos of Grant and from their wedding lined the bottom.

Now, it was joined by the envelope, nesting on top snugly.

"What are you doing?" came Holly's soft voice, and his head whipped around. She was placing his duffel on the bed, retrieved from the downstairs storage for him to pack up. Her eyebrows inclined, taking in the box in his hands, knowing all too well the significance of it.

"Putting in something for the future," he murmured, resolutely closing the lid of the red lacquer box and latching it. Hoisting it onto the shelf, he pushed it gently toward the back. The churning storm in his irises had not abated when he looked back at her. Taking in a deep breath, he continued, "Only if I...then you can open it up. But not before."

Holding her focus, he waited until she nodded in agreement before going over to her. Together they went back downstairs, their son in his playpen and dinner still to be made. The meal turned out to be a chicken casserole that he'd had some success in making in the past, with him dutifully making it. He would treat his wife at least once more before he departed; it was no trouble for him, in comparison to other things. The conversation seemed to wilt as they ate, but both of them did not shy away from the tension, or let it disrupt their evening.

When the meal was finished, Steve brought Grant back into the living room yet again, the chore of washing the dishes usurped by Holly. For several minutes, he took up the boy's favorite stuffed giraffe, making it trot over the floor and run into the little guy's belly. The clink and clatter of the dishes broke into his hearing, and soon enough, he was too restless to leave her be. The little guy didn't object to being placed in his playpen again, too pleased to have his toys with him, and Bonnie had her chew rope to occupy her time.

As he left the room, walking back into the kitchen, he watched his wife for a few moments. The bunch and coil of her shoulders as she scrubbed, the light shift of her hair as it escaped the ponytail she'd placed it in and framed her face, captured his attention, the image of it joining so many of her in his memory. The sound of rushing water brought him back to the present, the basins emptying as the few dishes used dried on the rack.

"So, tomorrow. You're going," she muttered, her back to him and her hands wiped off on the towel set beside the sink. Her shoulders had remained tense, and she didn't turn when he hummed in acknowledgment.

"Yes," he said, leaning back against the island. His gaze didn't waver from her, and he crossed his arms. A toe tapped against the tile, and he muttered, "I have to do this. I've seen this start, and I have to see it end."

"I know," she responded, a thread of long-suffering under the words as she tossed the towel away. A corner of his mouth lifted; he was more than aware about her understanding of the matter. After all, in the end, she was the one who had figured out that he would go before he did. She half-turned, catching a glimpse of him over her shoulder. Affecting a teasing tone (even though it fell a little flat), she asked, "Why do you have to be so stupidly noble?"

Steve barked out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"I thought you liked that about me."

Holly finally turned to face him, a brittle smile stretching her mouth then."Most days, yes."

He matched it with a smirk of his own, though it melted away as her face began to crumple in tears. His gut constricted at the sight, and his brain was unable to stifle the thought of how he'd brought her nothing but sorrow over the last several days. Still, he went to her, gathering her up in his arms and pressing her face against his chest. One palm threaded into her hair, loosening the ponytail, and the other rubbed up and down her back.

"Shh, shh," he said, hoping to calm her crying. However, that did not stop her, her fingers curling hard into his shirt for several seconds before she pushed away. She met his eye-line fully, and would not spare him.

"If I'm going to watch you go tomorrow, I have to do this now," she gasped. Bloodshot streaks ran through her eyes, the tracks on her face cut against the hard set of it all, and she was sniffing hard to cut down on the dribbling. She was an absolutely mess, and she knew it, but she would not stop it. He would be leaving in the morning, and she knew that she could not break down then. She had to have courage, had to maintain her wavering strength to let him cross the universe without her. More tears pooled in her eyes, and she coughed, "Just let me do this, Steven."

"Okay, doll," he said, nuzzling into her hair and planting a kiss there. Drawing her against him once more, he reiterated, "Okay."

They stood there in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator working in harmony with the gasping sobs she muffled into his shirt. Thumps pushed against her belly, their daughter seemingly sharing in it with her. The ticks of the clock ran down, with her tears turning into trickles, and when she caught her breath and swallowed down the last of the sorrow, she could see how deeply he shared it, the pain in his face unfettered and bare. Water rimmed his own eyes, wetness was on his own face, and she felt her heart lurch. Gently, she reached into the pocket of his jeans, removing the handkerchief he kept in there herself. Tender swipes at his face were followed by him taking the cotton square and doing the same for hers. As they caught their breath, they heard Grant's voice as he squalled, demanding his mommy and daddy come to him. Lacing their hands together, Steve and Holly left the kitchen, hoping to leave the sorrow behind for the time being.

The toddler was standing, waiting for them to come to the room, his bright eyes latching onto Holly immediately. The ring of plastic keys he'd been bobbing dropped from his hand, and he stared up at her.

"Mama? You sad?" Grant asked, bewildered at the blotching red of his mother's face and the water still present in her eyes. Holly felt Steve stiffen beside her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

"Hey, baby boy," she greeted the little guy. Scooping him out of his playpen and putting him on the ground, she gave a little grunt and slowly knelt onto his level. Swiping discreetly at the leftover tracks on her cheeks, she tried to assure him, "Mama's...Mama's okay."

Grant shook his head, not fooled in the least. "Sad. Why?"

Holly's mouth opened, but no sound came out. How could she tell her son that it could be the last time they saw his father? This talk, she had feared having it for a long while, but she was not prepared to have it. Not with a child under two years old. Steve knelt down then, taking the little guy's hands in his and looking at him squarely.

"Because I have to go away for awhile," he proclaimed, his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat. Grant blinked, confusion decorating his face as he tilted his head to the left.

"Go 'way?"

"Yes," Steve confirmed, inclining his head. Holly nodded with him, her fingers brushing over the boy's small sleeve. Formulating an explanation that the toddler could at least marginally understand, he went on, "There are some, uh, bad guys coming, and I have to go with your Uncle Bucky and everyone to stop them before they do anything bad here."

"Oh," the child replied. His confusion lessened slightly, but he still looked at his father in question. "Back soon?"

Steve's gaze dropped to the floorboard, a deep breath taken to steel himself to tell his boy the truth.

"I...I don't know when I'll be back, Grant. Maybe not for a long time."

The toddler's face fell then, his big blue eyes wide with distress. Looking to his mama, who had bitten her lip to quell its wobbling, he began to frown. Turning back to his father, he poked his little finger into the bigger man's shoulder.

"Daddy no go," he pronounced imperiously, dipping his chin as if he had spoken the final word on the matter. An unbidden grin at the authority projected by the toddler plucked at Steve's lips, but one thought about the danger beyond their world that threatened him, and the urge dissipated.

"Buddy, I have to go. I have to make sure they don't come here, to hurt you or your mother," Steve told him, his voice firm.

Red flushed into Grant's face, his brow furrowing hard and tears beginning to rim his eyes. His breaths began to puff swiftly, the final warning that he was about to throw a true-blue fit.

"No go, no go!" he cried, the protests rising in pitch and threatening to turn into full-fledged screams. Instead of just letting him wail and holler, the blond man scooped him up, holding him as the boy kicked and squirmed in his grasp. Walking him from the living room to the kitchen, and back again, he held the crying child, his rage petering off as Steve kept him close. Holly's dark gaze tracked them as they went, the worry etched into her face more and more obvious even as Grant eventually began to quiet. When he finally stopped shaking and kicking, the boy braced his hands on his daddy's face, the tears on Grant's cheeks still flowing down.

"No?" he hiccuped, and Steve shook his head again.

"Not right now," he stated softly, a thumb coming up and blotting away the tear tracks. Holly approached then, her hand laying over his as he supported Grant. The heartbreak he had been feeling all day pinged sharper in that moment, and he felt his jaw tighten slightly. "But soon, I have to go. And you have to be the man of the house once I'm gone. You have to watch out for your mother, and your little sister."

Matching blue eyes looked to one another, the toddler sniffing hard against another swell of tears.

"Bon stay?" the little boy wondered, and that Steve smirked slightly.

"Bonnie's staying," he affirmed. "It's just me going."

The sniffling hadn't abated, but Grant was no longer sobbing outright. Instead, he clung to his daddy, unwilling to let him go for even the smallest thing for the rest of the evening. Steve held him gladly, letting him snuggle and mumble whatever words and disjointed thoughts came to mind as they all eventually moved to sit on the couch. One hand rubbed up and down the little boy's back, while the other was laced tightly with his wife's, the television flashing the opening scroll for _Star Wars: A New Hope._ Their movie, his brain muttered as he glanced at Holly out the corner of his eye, and he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, the corner of her mother barely curving at him as the princess onscreen deployed the droids, sending them on an adventure into the unknown.

By the time the Millennium Falcon had escaped the Death Star, and Luke was lamenting the loss of Obi-Wan Kenobi to Leia, he noticed the tiny puffing breaths against his neck. Grant was out, having lasted past his bedtime in the hope of keeping Daddy around longer. Catching Holly's eye, he nodded down to the boy, her own chin raising. Letting go of his hand, she reached forward and paused the movie, casting her gaze to the clock on the wall. It was late enough, and the morning would come all too soon. Silently, she scooted off the sofa, taking up the tablet on the coffee table and starting the lockdown process for the house.

"Okay. Time for bed, now," he whispered, no response forthcoming from the little boy in his arms. Rising from the couch, he measured his steps, keeping his gait even as he strode up the stairs. It wouldn't do for Grant to wake up then, and have his sadness and fear at the prospect of losing his father refueled. He was set into his crib, his day clothes remaining in place as he dozed. Pulling the blanket up over his small legs, Steve took a moment to smooth the boy's sandy brown hair away from his forehead. Minutes were passed, his hands braced along the rail as he stared down at his son. He didn't know how long he stood there, the glow of the Mickey Mouse lamp on the dresser cutting through the slats and partially illuminating Grant's face. He looked so much like Steve, even at his age.

A rogue part of him thought back to his mother Sarah, how much she'd seen Joseph Rogers in him every day, and how Holly would be reminded of the same with their son.

A lump formed in his throat as he bent down and gave his son a featherlight kiss on his temple, with it not swallowed down before he stepped back, and a quiet directive given to JJ to continue locking down the house for the night as he left the room. Closing the door behind him, he took in a deep breath before treading down the hall, his footsteps pausing only to give Bonnie a few pats as she settled into her own bed.

Holly was waiting for him in their bedroom, perched on the end of the mattress. She'd swapped her clothes for pajamas, the dark green nightdress hitting just above her knees. Her hair was loose, the soft waves framing her face and shoulders. Her hands were in her lap, framing her baby bump, wrapped tissue paper passing between them as she sat. When he shut the door behind himself, Steve hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets, an eyebrow rising slightly. Before he could say a word, she rose to her feet, her fingers fidgeting with the package as she crossed and stood in front of him.

"Here," she murmured softly, passing the folded tissue paper into his hand. He quirked an eyebrow at her when the weight of it settled in his palm. Off her nod, he tore through it, inhaling sharply when he saw what was wrapped in the tissue. It was a silver-colored medallion molded in the shape of a dog tag. The outside was engraved with an image of St. Michael, and he ran a finger over it. The patron saint of warriors, his mind whispered at him. Noticing the tiny clasp and hinges, he pressed against it, opening it. His fingers started to shake as he looked down at the pictures sealed inside. On one side, a miniature photograph of Holly holding Grant sat, the pair of them frozen in time with giant smiles on their faces. And on the other was the sonogram of their daughter, the distinctive curve of her head and a tiny hand picked up by the sweeps. The thickness in his throat nearly choked him, and when he glanced up at Holly, he could see her swallowing hard as well.

"The lost Christmas present finally came," she explained, rueful grins pulling at both of their lips. That past winter, the online company that she had ordered one of his gifts from had failed to deliver it on time, and she'd been so upset and disappointed in it. He'd assured her that it would be alright if it never came, that he was pleased no matter what she had or didn't have, and that was the end of it. Evidently, it found its way to them. Holly reached out, trailing a finger along the edge of it as she lifted a shoulder. "I was gonna give it to you on our anniversary, but...better to have it now."

He blinked hard against another swell of bittersweet heartache. Their anniversary was two and a half months away, but it was unknown whether he would be back by then, or even if. His heart ached, despite his firm resolve.

"Doll," he said, the pet name nearly a rumble come straight from his chest. He could do no more than dip his head in thanks, unable to say anything else in that instance.

Taking the medallion from him, she closed it, her fingers toying with the chain for a few moments. Undoing the clasp, she held it up in question. Steve nodded, inclining his head so she could place it around his neck. When it was latched, she let her hands rest upon his chest, her dark gaze focused on the medallion. Though he was to leave them, they would be with him in a way. The little warmth left in her skin soaked into his shirt, rising and falling with the deep breaths he was taking. Slowly, her eyes trailed up to his face, the fall of his hair upon his forehead and the scruff of his beard taken in. When she met his eyes, she felt his heart beat faster under her palm, hers following suit in her own chest. The myriad of emotions, the mix of sorrow, love, and determination within his gaze, struck her. Unable to stop herself, she slid her hands up to the back of his head, drawing him down and crashing her mouth to his. At once, he opened up to her, the kiss turning hot, hard, and fast in the passing seconds. Over and over they met, heat flooding their veins as tongues and teeth stroked and clashed.

In those fleeting seconds, they veritably molded to one another, parting only to catch their breath.

"I need you," she breathed against his mouth, her voice thick now with something deeper than sadness.

"Good," he grunted, nipping lightly at her lower lip. Gasps from her puffed against his mouth, his beard, and the burn coursing through him increased. As his fingers tugged at the buttons of her nightdress, he was unable to mask the sincerity rising beneath the spikes of desire as he professed, "'Cause I need you, too."

With hands pressed into her hips, Steve shuffled Holly backwards to the bed, laying her down and both of them determined to show the other exactly how much they needed one another.

 **xXxXxXx**

Despite the the exhaustion that was brought on by vigorous love-making, Steve was awake before the dawn, reveling in the feel of his wife's body along his, nuzzling at the nape of her neck as she continued to sleep. Fingers brushed featherlight over her skin, traipsing lazily down her arm and across her belly, his palm resting on the swell. Thrums of heat, of love, spread out of his heart, snapping almost painfully through him as he continued to keep her near. After several long moments spent languidly getting his fill of touching her, holding her, he planted the barest kiss on her neck and slid away. Getting out of bed, he fetched up his boxer briefs from the floor, his steps silent as he left the room.

The house was utterly still; not even Bonnie had woken as he trod past her. Avoiding the creaky step that time, he made a final tour of his home, speaking quietly to JJ about ratcheting up the safety protocols while he was away. The AI readily agreed with his commands, a silent observer as the blond man went from the basement up, the creaks and hum of the home echoing around him every step of the way. The kitchen and living room were much as they were the night before, papers and books spread by his wife on some surfaces, his son's toys on the coffee table. When he went back up to the second floor, he peered into the toddler's room, the little guy still far away in dreams. He turned to the door just beside his son's, inhaling deeply before opening it.

The office next to Grant's room was converted, the futon and television relocated to the great room in the basement, the desk replacing the beaten-up one in the bedroom down there as well. Rather than going with the traditional pink once they learned of the baby's gender, Holly had wished for something else, and he'd concurred, willing to concede on a matter that was of little consequence to him. Lilac paint adorned the walls soon afterward, matching curtains on the window and a couple of his sketches framed and hanging up as well. For a long time, Steve stood in the doorway of the new nursery. The dresser, changing table, and crib were in light woods (at least the set-up for those went far more smoothly than Grant's had), and a giant stuffed bear from Uncle Bucky sat in the corner. Quietly, he crossed over the carpet, the pads of his fingers caressing the furniture as he passed. Sitting in the rocking chair in the opposite corner, he stared at the room, looking to the closet over half full with supplies and leftovers from Grant's infancy. Were he not to return for a long while, he was sure that they would endure. He knew Holly would make sure neither Grant nor their daughter would want for anything.

All that would be lacking was...

Steve sighed, clearing his throat after a few tries before getting up. It was his choice, his duty, to go, and he would live with the consequences of it. He had to.

Leaving the nursery, he stepped back into the master bedroom, just in time for Holly to stir and awaken. Fetching a blanket from the closet, he wrapped her in it as she rose from the mattress, the soft shuffle of the cloth breaking the quiet. Off her questioning look and flicking fingers to the bathroom, he nodded, letting her take his hand and lead him to the shower. Together they went in, fleeting touches exchanged as they washed up, darting looks shooting to one another as they dressed. The duffel Holly had brought up the day before was packed, some space left over for whatever Steve would need to grab from his storage at the base.

Breakfast was bleak, not a word passed between them, gestures made to pass the syrup and milk instead of questions. Even Grant held his peace, the somber air around his parents causing him to merely spoon his food into his mouth without a sound. With brisk efficiency, the meal was finished, the dishes put in the sink to soak and the dog taken out quickly afterward. Soon enough, Bonnie was waddling inside, watching as her owners grabbed up their jackets, the duffel, and their son, the rumble of the truck following their departure within minutes.

The drive to the base was accompanied only by the local jazz station playing at the lowest volume, Grant's warbles sounding on and off as the road churned beneath them. On the middle console sat Steve and Holly's hands, fingers entwined though they both stared straight out the windshield. Were it any other week, they would be heading to church right then, the morning spent with the congregation and absorbing the minister's homily. Not so that day.

Soon came the turn for the frontage road, the gravel beneath the tires spitting up as they approached the base and the doors for the underground parking garage. Very few people could be seen on the upper decks, the base quiet due to it being the weekend. Finding a spot on the first level, they parked, with Steve getting out smoothly and coming around to assist his wife down. Once she was situated, he retrieved their son from his seat, passing both him and the keys to the vehicle into her capable hands. Whispered words passed between them, and he laid a peck on her temple before she walked to the opposite elevator bank. She would be meeting with Kay and Maria, wanting to be in their company before the final send-off. He turned toward the elevators on the south end, the doors opening in time for him to be greeted by Tony. The billionaire had been alerted by JJ about Rogers' presence, and he was swift to be the first contact that day. He looked just about as well as the commander did—that it to say, exhausted and discomforted.

"Enjoy your last day, Commander?" he asked the blond man as he boarded, side-stepping the duffel bag he dropped to the floor. Steve merely grunted at Tony, which he took to mean he did, at least somewhat. Lowering his voice, he wondered next, "How long did they cry? Just asking to see if they beat Pepper in the floods of tears department. She's...less than pleased about this."

Steve didn't bother to hide his derisive snort, and when he glanced at Tony, he spotted the passivity in his face. He'd been expecting it, and was likely of the same mind.

"Trust me, Holly is probably even less so," he retorted, hands resting on the buckle of his belt to stem their fidgeting. The wry set of his countenance dropped away as he considered something, and he closed his eyes. "My daughter...she's due soon. And I..."

The words dried up on his tongue, and his focus dropped to his boots. Tony mirrored his posture, sighing deeply.

"Don't think that way, Steve. You can't afford to. Or you'll never be able to walk out that door and finish this." His dark eyes were laced with pain, though Stark took care to keep them directed away from his friend. Letting out a fast breath, he mumbled, "I get it, really."

Steve looked up then, an eyebrow slowly spiking. "Really."

"Yeah," Stark drawled, exhaling sharply. Raking a hand back over his cropped, dark hair, the lines in his face became more pronounced. Clearing his throat, his next words were said as a bare whisper, the information too sensitive to do otherwise, in his opinion. "Pep's pregnant. Told me so yesterday."

The surprise on the commander's face paled in comparison to the billionaire's. Despite how painstakingly careful both he and his wife had been about protection, somehow it had happened. Pepper, at forty years old, was pregnant, and Tony had to wrap his mind around becoming a father as he neared ever-closer to fifty. (Still, he'd be younger than his own father was when he was born, but still, he was honest enough to note he was no spring chicken.) Should they survive whatever they all encountered in space, of course. Since she'd sat him down and told him the truth yesterday, he'd been lost in a sort of fog. It was early days, according to the doctor she'd seen, and she wouldn't even show for awhile, but it was true. She had the blood-work and everything, and showed the results to him.

Pepper regarded the conception as such an anomaly, such an incredible chance, that she was not about to give it up. And Tony...well, he wasn't going to ask it of her. Not after she'd already given him so much. He just hoped he could be around to find out what the kid would even be.

As the evening rolled on, and he had to set the last of his affairs in order, he waited until after his wife had gone to bed to finish with two final tasks. Two new accounts were set up, with hefty sums deposited into each (thanks to overseas banking associates; nothing illegal, of course, but just in one of the several banks across the ocean that held some of the Stark funds). One would be to cover any and all medical procedures for Pepper, factoring in genetic tests and possible emergency care given that she was over thirty-five. The second was a college fund for the pipsqueak; though the kid would be the heir to his company, he couldn't guarantee what his board could or could not do, or what Pepper might choose to do, should he never come home. Four years of projected tuition and materials for any Ivy League school, provided the bun in the oven didn't decide to graduate early or go to MIT instead. Either way, he looked to protect them both, just in case. She'd be getting the full details and paperwork after he'd gone, and he hoped it would be a comfort to his girl, and child.

Glancing over at his friend, he gave him a bitter grin. "All the best timing for this, right?"

Steve's shock was wrestled down, a weak smile gracing his lips. "Congratulations."

The wan nature of Stark's smile stayed for a few more moment, his gaze dropping to his feet again.

"Keep it on the DL, though." He shrugged a shoulder. "Her request."

"Got it."

The elevator doors swished open, the hall before them stretching on. Gathering up his things, Steve followed Tony out of the conveyance, the pair silent as they went through the twists and turns to the storage and locker area was.

"Alright, everybody here?"

Commensurate assurances rang out as the others exited their locker areas, coming out into the hall. Bucky and Sam were among the first, their gear on and their small bags in hand (no doubt Bucky's was filled to the brim with secreted weaponry he could not fit on his person, and Sam had multiple clips for his guns stashed away as well). Wanda came out next, the air around her veritably swirling and snapping as she shouldered her own bag. Her green eyes were slightly puffed up, and Steve supposed she and the Vision had had a rough day as well; after all, she would be going while he stayed behind, along with Pietro. Bruce had a backpack strapped on, his hands tucked into his pockets as he scuffed a toe against the tile floor. Scott was not present, as he was working out a few last-minute details with Stephen Strange since they would be on hand at the base while the team was away. Tony's suit stood at the ready at the end of the hall, and the man himself leaned against the far wall in preparation. The Black Widow emerged in her own get-up, but she hovered near the door of one of the empty locker spaces, knocking three times. Arching an eyebrow, he watched as the panels slid back, revealing the occupant.

"Ready and able, Commander Rogers," a voice came from within, and the form stepped out. Swathed in a black greatcoat and pants, deep purple lines ran up the sides and across the chest. A loaded quiver was strapped to his back, a collapsible bow in one hand and a small duffel bag in the other. His sandy hair was trimmed back, the lines in his face more pronounced, but still, he managed a smile for Steve and the others. The commander was flabbergasted, while the others looked on in varying degrees of amusement.

"Barton?" Steve breathed, more surprise etched into his features. Clint Barton had returned, took up his mantle once again. But why would he, when he had successfully extricated himself from the organization. His brow furrowed in silent question, his mouth frozen.

Clint dipped his chin at that. Were he in Steve's position, he certainly would have a few questions about his sudden appearance. Natasha had called him with the news the evening after Bruce's arrival, of how the conundrum of the Infinity Stones had unwittingly led to the discovery of another seeking them. She'd imparted that he could do what he wished with the information she provided, but since he'd been directly manipulated by one of the stones, she thought he should be able to have a choice over what to do. A large part of him balked at the implications, his family coming first in his mind. However, when he presented it to Laura, she'd seen the situation differently. He did have a choice...a choice to keep the world safe for their family, provided he went and fought with his old teammates. After all, he may have been twisted by one of the stones, but didn't that mean he knew better than anyone else how that worked? That perhaps he could be able to find a way to protect others from falling victim to it while out there? Maybe, and he'd conceded that much. Laura was not happy to see him go—no partner of a soldier was ever truly glad to watch their loved one head into danger—but she did know the significance of the return to work. It would be for her, and their children, that he would go back into active service.

One more time, he promised her. Just once more.

"We're the Avengers," he pronounced simply, the hand holding the collapsed bow arching out. The gesture was made to the others gathered, but his bright gaze lingered on all those who had been there originally. Those who had been involved in New York, the first battle...the herald of all that came afterward. Softly, he murmured, "This started with us, all of us. I'm here to see the job through."

"We all are," Natasha stated simply, moving to stand by Barnes and threading her fingers with his metal ones in that moment. The solidarity of those gathered, and even of those who would remain on the earth, descended upon them all in that moment, held them there.

Slowly, Steve nodded, breaking the spell by moving to his own locker and suiting up. The others engaged in sparse small talk while they waited for him to get everything on, the chatter soothing something in them all.

"So, how is this gonna work?" he heard Tony ask as he swapped his regular clothes for the tactical gear and thicker boots. As Rogers moved on to tug the fingerless gauntlets on, he listened as Stark continued, "I mean, I've seen them work their mojo before, but can they really get all of us in one go?"

A snort shot out then, and Bruce spoke up as Steve swung his new shield onto the back harness attached to his upper body gear. "You should see what can get through that portal. Believe me, we won't be any sort of problem."

"Good to know," Barton retorted, and Steve swiftly shoveled his clothes into his bag, along with a few medkit supplies and his helmet. Glancing at the mirror, Rogers forced himself to look past the sorrow outlining his irises, to take in the black armor and silver star, the shape of the shield peeking over his shoulders. He was ready, ready to set off into the unknown with the others. Taking his bag in hand, he stepped out, inclining his head to his friends in silence.

As one, the team moved into the large elevator at the end of the hall, Stark jumping into his suit just before standing on it. Despite the additional weight, the conveyance moved smoothly, depositing them on the rooftop landing pad before long. A line of agents flanked the east side, standing at attention as they watched their leaders and the remaining team go. Doctor Strange, electing to remain with the Vision on Earth in the hope of seeking out 'inter-dimensional aid', stood almost in the shadows, Lang and the android beside him. Maria Hill was in conference with Kay Szymik, Sam's girlfriend darted fast glances to them as they arrived. And, just beyond her, stood Holly and his son, the pair of them watching with wide eyes. True to her word, Holly was maintaining a neutral expression, the tears she expended the day before allowing her to stand as stoically as she was.

"Five minutes, and then we've got to go," he told the others, branching off as nods followed his statement. His feet moved automatically, bringing him to his wife and son in measured steps. Down the line, he spotted Wilson scooping up Kay, the blue-haired agent burying her face into his shoulder as she held him tightly. Similarly, Wanda had met with the Vision once more, hands held and foreheads touching as they spoke in hushed tones. The others milled, final farewells exchanged as he set about to make his own.

Setting his bag to the side and kneeling down, he felt his heart thump hard in his chest as he opened his arms to Grant. The little boy ran into his father's embrace, small arms laced around his neck as Steve held him close.

"Bye-bye, Daddy," Grant's little voice piped up, the thinness of it making his stomach sink.

"Bye, son," he returned, planting a peck in the child's hair. Softly, he told him, "I love you, so much."

"'Ove you," the little guy said, reaching up and patting his beard fondly. Gently, Steve gripped his son's waist, pushing him back little by little. Carefully, he shuffled over to place himself in front of Holly's pregnant belly, his palms moving to frame it. Casting a fast glance up to her, he took in a deep breath before speaking again.

"Hey, sweet pea. Daddy's gotta go for a little while, but I'll..." he said, his throat catching on his words. Coughing and swallowing with some difficulty, he forced himself to press on, a false grin on his lips. "I'll try to be back for your birthday, alright? Love you."

Placing a kiss on the swell, he felt a tiny kick rebound just to the left of it. Swiftly, one hand moved the spot, remaining there until another pushed into his guarded palm. Satisfied with the farewell to his daughter, he rose up, the last good-bye looming between Holly and him. He looked down at her, committing her poise and stance in that moment to memory, eyes trailing over the fall of her hair and waft of her maternity dress. Around her neck were the dog tags he'd gifted her years ago, a token of his love and the understanding of what it meant to love him in return. Taking her free hand in his (since her other was occupied with keeping a tight grasp on Grant's), he let the other drape around her waist, bringing her to stand as flush to him as possible.

" _Mo chro_ _í,_ " he said. Bending his neck, his forehead rested against hers, bumping her nose with his.

" _Mo chuisle_ ," she replied, a measure of pride flooding his irises when she spoke. Slowly but surely, he had been teaching her a few words of Gaelic, the phrases imparted to him by his mother shared with his wife. Carefully, her palm moved up and rested over the star on his chest plating, her fingers splaying along the woven material. Below it, tucked safely under the armor, was the medallion she'd given him, its weight settling on his chest as well. Forcing her face to remain passive, she murmured, "Come back to me, soldier."

He gave her the slightest nod, closing his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

Her body shifted, and he caught her tightly as she leaned up and kissed him.

"Love you," she whispered, to which he replied with his own affirmation. One last kiss, and then he stepped back, cupping his boy's chin once and trying to smile at him. Grabbing up his bag, he forced himself to walk away from them, though he did not turn his back. Instead, he shuffled backward, stopping at the wide, open center of the landing pad. Looking around, he found Bruce, the two men sharing a nod in understanding then. Inhaling sharply, the commander raised his chin.

"Avengers," he called out, his deep voice holding all sternness and authority then. When the others looked his way, he commanded, "Assemble."

Slowly, the team formed a loose circle on the landing pad, Hill giving the fast command for all those nearby to stand back. Banner, sharing one last look with his compatriots, tilted his head up to the sky, raising a hand and waving. Calling out to Heimdall to open the bridge, mere seconds passed before a beam of golden light encompassed them. The rush and crash of the air around them sent snapping breezes to tug and pull at their bodies. Steve, in awe of the portal about to take them away, quickly dropped his gaze, searched for his family. Holly had gathered Grant into her arms, her dark gaze meeting his. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a clap and a flash came.

Blinking, Holly fought to catch her breath. There was no trace of the Avengers left, save for the intricate design left by the portal on the tarmac. They, and Steve, were gone. Shaking, she held her son closer for several long minutes, praying with all her might that that would not be the last they ever saw of her husband.

* * *

 **A/N:** Good Lord, I'm a sad sack. Maybe I should fix the label on this to be angst/sadness. Sorry guys, but as Shakespeare once wrote, "...Parting is such sweet sorrow." (Paraphrasing, of course, and from R&J, which is NOT one of my favorite plays of his, but still...)

This should be the last boo-hoo chapter for awhile. Things should start picking up. From this point out, the story is split into two—Steve and the Avengers working against Thanos, and how Holly deals with the absence while things happen on Earth.

And yeah, I made Pepper pregnant. Considering how long she and Tony have been together, it's sort f a surprise that not even a scare has happened yet for them. Suppose it was time to pile on, huh? Pregnancy past the age of thirty-five for women gets more and more difficult, from what I understand; she's going to have a heck of a time while Tony's gone just to adjust, let alone the health issues it could bring. As far as I know, through my own research, I don't think the MCU ever gave Pepper an actual birth year (birth date is January 24th, though). So, I chose to make her roughly eight years younger than Tony. I love Gwyneth Paltrow, don't get me wrong, but she is not in her twenties anymore, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise for her character, either.

The Irish Gaelic Steve and Holly say to one another translates as follows:

" _Mo chro_ _í_."—My heart.

" _Mo chuisle_."—My pulse.

The poll on my page is still up, in case you would still like to vote.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, _Star Wars_ , etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

 **EDIT:** I have posted a new steamy one-shot of Steve and Holly on AO3, entitled _Ink Stick._ Please check it out, but only if you are proper age, maturity, etc. (I label it the way I do there for a reason, y'all!)


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky Barnes rested against a wide, sweeping archway, staring out beyond the wide balcony to the city beyond. The palace of Asgard had been opened for the warriors of Midgard, as per Thor's instructions, and were followed to the letter despite his absence. In the few days since their arrival, he and the rest of the Avengers had little time to indulge in sightseeing. However, he had a chance before grabbing some dinner to do so. Tall, gleaming structures pierced the sky, higher than anything he'd seen on Earth. The city shimmered gold in the sunset, the drifting peaks of the mountains beyond dusted with snow as cloud gathered and swirled. It was hard to believe such a place existed. In his time, there was no other world that he knew of, and he'd not thought that there could be comparisons to make in the future.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

Adjusting the belt of his borrowed clothing, he grimaced at his attire. None of them, including himself, had packed beyond a three-day rotation for their clothing, and soon enough, they were all turning to the Asgardian wardrobe that had been provided for them in place of having to don uniforms. He was grateful that the godlike race had come far enough in their technology to include pants, but he still had issues with the robes and sweeping tunics that littered the attire. The plates of his left arm snagged on loose threads, and he'd already had to rip off the sleeve of one tunic in the last day or so. The exposure of it drew the attention of whatever guards they came across, and he found himself almost wishing to detach the limb entirely.

"Beautiful, huh?" came a voice from behind him, the tone mellow and musical. Glancing behind, he was met with a sight he considered far more beautiful. Natasha, too, had garbed herself in Asgardian fare, the dress she'd been given sleeveless and molding to her curves. The black cloth was inset with red panels, nearly the exact same shade as her hair, and a belt cinched in her waist. Spotting the thin weapons secreted in places along the belt, Bucky felt admiration flush through him. Grinning to himself, he pivoted on his heel, shrugging a shoulder.

"Some parts of it," he replied, nodding to the gaps in the skylines. During the day, the very air was ringing with the clashes and clatters of equipment rebuilding the city, and only then had it settled into quiet. Letting out a slow breath, he supplied, "Banner said that there used to be more. Before the attacks."

Natasha's face remained impassive, but he detected the slight wince at the corners of her eyes. While she and Banner were on better terms those days, it was unlikely that she would ever put aside his abandonment of her. However, they both knew that there was more to be concerned about than her spurned affections those days, and the past would remain solidly there for them both. Bucky, perversely, did take comfort in the knowledge. He didn't like to share, and he was glad to receive even microscopic confirmation that she wanted him alone. Most days, he still didn't believe he deserved it, but he couldn't push away what he wanted. Not anymore.

Her ocean-colored gaze flicked back to the city, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arching. "Even so, can't deny that what's here is gorgeous."

The corner of his mouth lifted, and his cornflower blue eyes veritably gleamed. "Scenery improved about a minute ago for me."

That cracked the veneer, a true grin coming out even as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Smooth, Sarge," she complimented him sardonically, hips swaying as she strode closer to him.

"Going right to real rank, huh?" he countered, taking her hand in his and leading her away from the balcony. As they paced through the large, echoing hallway, he lowered his voice. "How was the meeting with, uh, Sif?"

Due to Thor taking it upon himself to go with the contact and find her allies, the leadership had fallen upon the four warriors left behind. The Lady Sif was chief among them, the most trusted to care for the city and its borders, strength radiating from her flashing eyes as she'd greeted them. Her remaining compatriots—Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun—divvied up the duties that were left over. The four of them, in the absence of their true king and prince, had authority over the whole of Asgard, and thus were to be respected. All of what they were to do, at home and beyond, had to be taken up with them.

Natasha canted her head to the left, sidling closer to him. "It was alright. She and the Warriors Three had another organizational meet-up with the Asgardian guard. The numbers remain solid, but they're looking into recruiting a few more hands. Steve's helping them keep an eye on it all."

Bucky inclined his head at that.

"Good," he muttered, thinking that whatever kept his best friend occupied in the midst of all that they were facing could only be helpful. To Natasha, he smirked and shrugged. "Whatever help we can get, right?"

"Right," she intoned quietly. Idly brushing down the overlay on her dress, she nonchalantly asked, "How was Loki duty?"

Out the corner of her eye, she caught Bucky's jaw ticking, the blue of his eyes turning steely. Due to the god's transgressions, both on Asgard and on Earth, he was under veritable house arrest. His single protector, Thor, was gone, and nobody left behind trusted him in the slightest. After all, who _could_ trust such a fellow? After attempting to overthrow not one, but two worlds, and had usurped the throne in Odin's absence, and his multiple attempts of murder and treason against the one he called brother, it was an impossible task. It had taken remarkable self-restraint for Natasha to not outright punch the villain when they'd arrived; she couldn't imagine how Barton didn't shoot him in the eye, liked he'd wished since being freed from his torment all those years ago.

She privately supposed his wish for retribution was assuaged whenever he was assigned guard duty. He'd taken it upon himself to haul out his quiver and sharpen each arrowhead that needed it to a deadly edge in the god's presence.

A set of cuffs around Loki's ankles and wrists, bound in place by the guards and carved with intricate runes, hampered his abilities immensely. However, Steve and the others had come to the agreement that they would join the detainment rotation to keep an eye on him while they were there. While they did not think he would be foolish enough to side with the creature who had abandoned him and his cause after the Battle of New York, they could not count on him as an ally.

It was too risky.

"Fine," Bucky had finally said, grinding out the word to her. Arching an eyebrow, Natasha managed to keep her smirk small.

"Sure it was, Clenched Jaw," she replied, and he grumbled under his breath. Putting a hand on his arm, she stopped him in his tracks, looking up at him and searching his face for clues. "What'd he do?"

"He didn't really do anything. Just had a few choices words about you, and me," he told her, dipping a chin when her brows quirked together. While on Asgard, the pair had not exactly hidden the fact that they were together, but they were not overt, either. However, the dark-haired trickster had figured out their situation, and took delight in goading him whenever he happened to be on guard duty. That evening, the god had gotten especially creative, having heard something of the damages done to him and speculating if that was the reason why such an equally broken soul would dare link herself to him. Too often, he'd found himself teetering on the edge, his metal hand clenched into a fist until the end of his shift. Clicking his tongue, Bucky confessed, "The most polite terms were calling you a child, and me a fool. I was about to kick the crap outta him when Sam and Fandral took over."

To her credit, Natalia merely took it in stride, flapping a hand in the air and brushing the god's arrogance away.

"Well, he's called me worse before, to my face." Her smirk grew again, taking on a darker shade as she professed, "Made it all the sweeter when I pulled the rug out from his feet less than a minute afterward, but still."

He smirked; she'd told him a little about her encounter with the trickster back before the team was officially formed, and while he still wished to cave in the god's face, he was proud of what her response had been at the time. His girl had manipulated a being who prided himself on being better and smarter than a human woman. Bucky could not have been more pleased for her retroactively.

However, his grin slid away as he contemplated something else. When Natalia looked at him, a question in her irises, he gave voice to it.

"I don't know how Thor can trust him. Not after everything I've heard."

Given that the team would be venturing to the god's home world, it was necessary to get them up to speed on who exactly they would be facing. When Banner imparted that, contrary to wait had been supposed in the past, Loki was alive and relatively free, it alarmed those who had fought against him. For Bucky and Sam, it was a matter of brushing up their knowledge to keep themselves in the loop and ahead of the game. And what they'd learned irked him.

The redheaded beauty looped an arm around his waist, waiting until his metal appendage rested around hers before replying. "I think trust is a stretch. But he does know him, and has fought with him for centuries. Loki may be able to get one over on him every now and again—which, as a Trickster god, isn't surprising—but there's ties there that keep them together."

Barnes spiked a dark eyebrow. "Sentiment?"

Natalia nodded, though her eyes held skepticism. "Could be. As much as he pretends otherwise. I also don't doubt that, if he had the opportunity to get what he wanted, he'd take it, even in the midst of great danger."

Taking that into account, the new Captain America murmured, "So the only thing we really can do is keep an eye on him."

The Black Widow's hand squeezed along his waist, and she exhaled sharply.

"And keep him away from the Tesseract, when the time comes."

"If we can trust the intelligence that Nova gal turned over."

Natasha chuckled, and corrected him, "Nebula. And it's what we have. So, we'll work with it."

"When we can," he returned, silence falling as they took a turn down another hall. The golden walls had narrowed, the hall adorned with ancient tapestries and candelabra casting a glow around them as they walked. Noting it, Bucky scratched at the scruff on his jaw. "Hopefully the new fortifications will hold up, if the fight comes here."

"That's what Doctor Banner and the others are working on," his partner reminded him. Looking toward the end of the hall, she couldn't help the snicker that course out of her. "Stark's like a kid in a candy store, looking at the materials and reordering blueprints."

Bucky gave her a wan smirk, not having expected otherwise from the tech genius. In some respects, the Asgardians were leaps and bounds ahead of the Earthlings, and Tony had taken it upon himself to absorb as much of it as he could while he had the time. (He also didn't doubt that it was an excuse to distract himself from what he'd left behind; it was something a good portion of them were doing while there, and Bucky wasn't about to judge them for it.)

"If they're able to keep busy, then good for them," he stated aloud, his steps slowing before they reached the end of the hall. The cacophony of voices and the clattering of plates echoed out to them, the dining hall just around the corner. Pulling Natasha up short as well, he bounced on the balls of his feet as they stood. "I'm gettin' antsy, waiting for whatever's out there to show up."

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, another smirk playing along her lips. "Eager to fight, soldier?"

At once, Bucky shook his head, calming himself enough to stand still and take her hands in his.

"Eager to get it over with. Eager to go home with you," he professed, his voice barely above a whisper. Tugging on her hands, he drew her into his embrace, a soft kiss shared before they braced their foreheads against one another's. Suspended in the moment, they only broke apart when the woman bumped the tip of her nose against his.

"Well, Thor is out there," she stated, lifting a shoulder and her fingers toying with his. "We can only hope he finds what he's looking for, and fast."

It really was all they could do, at that moment, and so Bucky had no response to it. Well, not a verbal one, anyway; he merely gave her another, longer kiss, a portion of his heart relieved that she was there with him to ground him, and to do the same for her. Keeping his arm curled around her, they continued their journey into the hall, joining those who were off-duty in indulging in victuals. Hogun and Volstagg sat at one end, Stark and Banner with them. Barton was in low-voiced conference with Lady Sif, their gazes darting to the new arrivals before focusing on one another again. Various guardsmen and warriors made up the rest of the table, and Bucky could not help but notice an empty seat on Stark's other side. Where was Steve?

The distant clatter of a closing door cut under the conversations and the passing of platters, and he bit back a groan, understanding exactly what his friend was doing. However, Natasha shook her head silently at him, pulling him to the table to eat. Worrying would do him no good, she muttered under her breath. At least, not on an empty stomach.

A door near the base of the palace steps opened up, and a figure in dark armor emerged. The star on his chest gleamed in the low light, and he ducked his head as he shut the door behind him. He'd left his helmet behind, though his shield was snugly in place on his back harness. In his hand, he bore a latched basket, the heat of the food within warming it as he walked. Pausing, he shared a short discussion with the captain of the guard at the base of the bridge, agreeing to take the news he had to impart with him as he went. He had business at the end of the bridge, in the observatory, and he would see it done.

The journey along the bridge was long, but not arduous, and it allowed Steve the chance to take it all in. The beauty of the place was something he did not know that anyone could ever capture (anyone of Earth, at least). Mentally, he was imprinting the flowing water below him, the refracting rainbows in the matter of the bridge, and even the spirals of the city behind him to memory. Somehow, when he returned home, he would put it to paper, bring it to life there.

The reflections tempered the constant whir of his mind, the swirl of drawing up plans and fortifying Asgard in case an attack should happen before his friend returned. He could only pray Thor would come back with the allies they had been promised. Maybe, with them working together, they could find a way to stop Thanos before he ever set his sights on Earth.

Eventually, after passing the outposts and the last of the stationed guards, he arrived at the domed observatory. Like many other buildings, it was plated with gold and bronze, the center of the interior dedicated to the portals connecting Asgard to the remainder of the Nine Realms. Around the space were a few tables and chairs, a curtained area obscuring the living quarters of the guardian constantly stationed there. Peering through the entry, he could see that the Asgardian in question was at his post, unmoving as he had been since the Avengers' arrival some days ago.

"Hello, Heimdall," Steve greeted the fellow, stepping into the domed room then. Politely, he waited on the threshold as Heimdall turned around. The sheen of his armor was dimming as night began to descend on Asgard, though the sharpness in his eyes had not.

"Commander Rogers," the Asgardian replied, the rich tone of his voice filling the space in the observatory. Noting the latched basket in hand, he let out a sigh, his sword set to the side and his helm removed. To the blond-haired man, he continued, "Thank you. You did not have to take up a servant's duties for my sake."

The commander cupped a hand in the air, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"We're all part of this. Figured you might be hungry," he responded, setting the basket on a table by the far wall. Blue eyes wandered over the space, as they had on the day of their arrival. However, that time it was with interest, as opposed to necessity. Hooking a thumb back toward the bridge, he reported, "The guard on the bridge is changing over soon, and a few of the team are going to be with them."

Heimdall took a seat at the table, unlatching the basket. "Very well. The enthusiasm of your warriors is...not what I expected."

Rogers dipped his chin, hands settling on the belt of his uniform.

"That seems to be the gist of the general feeling around here," he mumbled, and Heimdall felt a slight twinge of guilt at his phrasing. Gesturing for the commander to sit down, he waited until the fellow swung his shield to the floor and sat before explaining his statement.

"Asgard has ever worked with Midgardians in the past, and while we understand that some may have the same will to fight, it does not last long," he pointed out softly, exhuming the various meats and delicacies that had been packed into the basket. His golden gaze trailed over the commander, noting the lack of sleep in his irises, the long set of his face and the bend of his posture that indicated that he himself had not eaten in some time. The blond fellow scratched at his beard for a moment, turning the thought over before ruefully shrugging a shoulder.

"We don't have the time to prolong it, and I don't think that any of us want to, in the end," he mused, folding his arms and resting them on the table. Flicking a glance back up at the Asgardian, he professed, "But that doesn't mean we won't do what's necessary."

Heimdall nodded at that, loading up a pair of plates with the goods as he looked at the human across the table from him.

"Nay, some of you go beyond that. Including yourself." Off the commander's questioning glance, he was forced to subdue a chuckle. Raising his chin to where he normally took his post, he confessed, "You were a brave warrior in your time. And still are, in this one."

Rogers' jaw dropped a little then, the implication that Heimdall had seen him over the years, as well as the others, shaking him deep down. Sensing his advantage, the Asgardian pushed one of the loaded plates over to the commander, his golden stare locking onto him. Swallowing once, the black-suited man did as he was silently bid, obliging the guardian with several bites before he ate as well. In silence, they indulged in the repast, the sparse sound of coursing water and the distant calls between the changing guard reaching their ears. Heimdall did not force a conversation, and Steve was not inclined to speak. Between the pair, the food the commander had filched from the banquet hall disappeared. Full and steady for the first time in hours, Rogers took it upon himself to pack away the dirtied dishes, Heimdall moving to take up his post once more.

Latching the basket, the commander cleared his throat, attempting a half-grin as he reattached his shield to his harness. "I'll, uh, leave you to it, then."

The guardian of the Bifrost crossed a clenched fist over his chest, bending slightly at the waist in gratitude.

"Once more, you have my thanks."

The commander nodded, turning on his heel. Heimdall did not move, instead waiting for the man to inevitably pause in his flight. When he did so, when he pivoted back and took a few steps closer once more, he continued to wait, his eyebrows inclining only a fraction. Slowly, the strong, stern guise he adopted for the majority of his appearances started to melt, leaving behind the man underneath the layer of commander. The guardian of the Bifrost did not call attention to the droop of his head, the fiddling of his fingers on his belt or the tightness of his form; all he could do was shift his hands on his sword and watch.

"Can I...that is, may I..." Commander Rogers began, stumbling a bit in his words. Heimdall inclined his head, the corner of his mouth barely curving. Taking that as permission, the man's voice pitched lower, barely above a whisper as he asked, "Is...is my—?"

The guardian could not remain stoic in the face of the question, or rather, the garbled question. Looking back to the edge of the Bifrost, to the edges of the world, Heimdall focused his sight. For a few moments, only the crackle of the torches on the walls filled the silence, Rogers' tempered breathing accompanying it. A wafting breeze came in suddenly, causing the flames to sputter slightly, and then the guardian turned back to him.

"They are well, Commander. Your wife and son," he relayed, watching the myriad emotions flicker in the blond man's eyes. Dipping his chin, he continued, "They are sad, but they hope, and they wait for you."

The commander's eyes closed, and he inhaled raggedly. The band on his fourth finger was tapped a few times before he clenched harder at the basket handles in the other.

"...Thank you, Heimdall," he breathed, taking a moment to clear his throat and pass a palm over his face. His back straightened, and he gave the other fellow a clipped nod. The guise was donned once again, save for the flash of muted want in his irises. Turning to go again, he called over his shoulder, "Send a report in with the next changeover."

"Yes, Commander," Heimdall replied, golden eyes following the fellow as he left the observatory. In a bare whisper, he murmured, "You're welcome."

The thumps of the commander's booted footsteps faded, and the guardian turned his attention forward, his eyes and ears bent towards the realms beyond.

 **xXxXxXx**

Light-years away, on the edge of a landing pad, sat an M-ship. The craft, bearing bronze and navy plating, sported a few cosmetic pockmarks on the wings and around the nose of the cockpit. Otherwise, it was perfectly sound, having undergone repairs periodically over the last three cycles. The pilot, perched in his his seat at one of the side-by-side helms, kept glancing out the window, the gun in his lap neglected as he stared. The area in which the craft was resting was more desert than anything else, cliffs and sand swirling around the ship. Save for the occasional beeps and clicks from the consoles around him, the quiet in the cockpit was broken by a few loud snores and random expletives emitting from different hatches in the hold. In between came short, breathy hums, the creature humming distantly as she found her center amidst the cargo hiding out below.

Peter Quill leaned back in his seat, propping his chin in his hand as he waited, one leg bouncing as his impatience grew. The job he and the others had taken hours ago had been finished, and one of their own had gone to pick up the payment. He didn't like it: not the waiting, and certainly not sending out—

The back hatch suddenly opened, the landing ramp sliding down in time for a robed being to climb inside. Startled, the human male jumped in his seat, immediately snatching up his gun and pretending to examine it for deficiencies. The new arrival spotted his actions, neglecting to remind him that his weapon was, in fact, upside down and pointing the wrong way. Instead, she shucked off the hearty outer layer she'd worn against the desert climate, the robes revealing the lithe suit and maroon overcoat she was favoring those days. Nearly black hair spilled down, brushing along her grin skin as she adjusted the strap of the bag she held.

Arching a brow at her, Peter coughed once, threading a few fingers through his sandy hair and attempting to look relaxed.

"Got the pay-out?" he asked, focusing on his gun again (turning it the right way that time) as his compatriot let out a breathy chuckle.

"All here," Gamora retorted, patting the bag for effect before placing it into a storage hatch. With it secured, she sighed and combed back the threads of her dark hair. "We're set for the next little while."

Peter shook his head, shifting his gun into the holster strapped to his leg and tapping at the console before him idly. "Still think I shoulda gone with you."

The green-skinned beauty scoffed aloud, hands going to her hips. "Please. We made a deal, ever since we got on the bad side of, well, nearly everyone. The Sovereign, especially."

Quill pointed a finger at her. "To be fair, Rocket was the one—"

"Hey!" growled the creature in question, coming out from his quarters and catching the tail end of the conversation. The raccoon-like creature darted in, a comm device in hand and goggles set between his ears, his ringed tail swishing as he moved. He was not about to be bad-mouthed and let them get away with it. "That was a long time ago, and that didn't turn out to be all bad."

Stares were leveled at him for a few moments, and he deflated somewhat.

"Well, a lot of it was bad, but there were a few good parts."

All that earned him was a look of harder consternation from Quill and a spiking eyebrow from Gamora. Petulantly, he crossed his arms and huffed out a breath.

"The batteries did come in handy," he grumbled, pattering over to one of the cockpit chairs and perching in it. Gamora slid into the one directly behind, pulling up the digital displays and checking a few read-out of her own.

"Even so, me going in to do pick-up alone after a job minimizes the chances of that happening." She gave them both a pointed look, the lack of humor in her eyes and voice evident. "Given what sector we're close to."

The human and the raccoon-like creature glanced to one another, silently accepting her word. There were only a few jumps away from the Sovereign's jurisdiction, and after their actions several cycles back, it was best not to draw any attention to themselves. Had Rocket, or even Drax, gone along with her, it would have had the potential to jeopardize what they had worked for.

Thumping steps came out of another hatch, the twisted limbs and roots of a tree-like being emerging. He was a little taller than Gamora, the last few cycles having seen him go through a growth spurt. In his hands was a hand-held device, the cheery chimes and beeps from it clanging in the cockpit. Black orbs stared at it, never wavering as the creature found his way to one of the side benches, flopping on it and slouching.

"I am Groot," he grunted out the corner of his mouth, the tone lilted and almost mocking.

"Hey!" chorused Quill and Rocket in unison, offended by the creature's implications. Gamora merely smirked, inclining her head at him.

"Thank you, Groot," she said, earning a small smile for her efforts. Flapping a hand at her companions, she mused, "He's right; best intentions and all that."

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, words of wisdom spouted from someone who still can't clean up the vines in their room, always put stock in that."

The tree-like creature's dark gaze whipped up from the video game he was playing, and narrowed in on Quill. "I am Groot."

The human male scoffed audibly, flapping a hand in the air and sputtering, "It's your responsibility, that's why!"

The bickering continued, but Gamora ignored it. Rather, her attention was caught by something blipping on the ship's radar. Shooting a look to Rocket, she groaned in annoyance when she realized he'd been drawn into the arguing (Groot's roots were spreading at an alarming rate, and getting tangled up in his space, too).

"Guys," she called out, trying to get their notice. When Peter merely raised his voice a little louder and Rocket followed suit, she pitched hers to over-top theirs. "Guys! We got something coming in hot and fast."

The raccoon-like creature's eyes widened as he peered out of the glass, seeing the approaching object glinting in the bright sunlight.

"What the...?"

"Holy shit!" the human male beside him crowed. Snapping his jaw shut, Peter immediately turned to the digital displays in front of him, fingers jumping frantically over the screens. The incoming craft was dropping faster than was strictly necessary, and it appeared to be making a beeline for their landing pad. About to connect comms and signal for the craft to either slow or overshoot them, he was watched the displays waver and disconnect briefly. Someone on-board had a jammer, and they knew well to use it. Inhaling a breath, he was about to make the call to evacuate the ship when the approaching craft circled wide, its speed decreasing as it made to land. The rounded shape of the hull came into clearer detail, the mounted cannons at the front almost staring directly at them as it made its final round. Landing gear descended from beneath it, and it slowly touched down before the _Milano_ , several feet between the noses of the crafts. Gamora and Groot were on their feet behind Rocket and Peter, the quartet sharing glances as they attempted to look into the cockpit of the other craft.

"Okay, so this definitely has the potential to be very good or very bad," Quill mumbled after a few seconds, blinking at the sight before them.

"Bets?" Rocket quipped, the amusement in his voice draining as they all stared out the cockpit once more. Glancing back to his compatriots, Peter inclined his head to one of the walls, and they all moved to it, Drax's snoring still ringing through the walls and the distant humming pausing.

Inside the golden and bronze craft, the female at the helm shifted her gaze to the left. The blue-skinned fingers tightened around the steering apparatus slightly, and she almost winced when her co-pilot flicked the switch to lower the landing ramp.

"Just so you know, they're probably arming themselves," she murmured to him, her voice flat. It had taken some time, a good exchange of money, and a little threatening around a couple of different hubs, but Nebula was able to glean out the location of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Time was of the essence, and while she knew the folly of essentially cornering them after a job, she could not regret it.

Things were accelerating now, and they could not let a second go to waste.

The fellow at her side, the prince of Asgard himself, leaned back into his seat, a knowing look shooting back at her.

"I wouldn't expect less from your sister and her friends," Thor replied softly. Arching a brow, he nearly smirked at her. "Believe me, I've been on both sides of that coin."

Still, she knew he hadn't taken her warning lightly, as evidenced by him fetching up the large, runed hammer from its spot on the floor. Nodding, she carefully patted the holsters strapped to her hips as she rose, making sure they were in tight as she moved and gathered up packs for her belt. Once those were taken, she swathed herself in a dark robe, the Asgardian donning the crimson cape he kept in the back as well.

Exiting the craft, Thor was not shocked when four creatures burst from the hold of their ship, each armed with different weapons. A green-skinned female led the way, her dark irises narrowing in on the blue-skinned beside him. Her lithe body tightened, adopting a stance better suited for imminent battle. The human male beside her, over-topping her by a few inches, matched her step, removing two-pronged pistols as she withdrew blades. At their heels came a creature that resembles raccoons on Midgard, bandoleers crossing over a vest on his chest and a decent-sized gun in his clutches.

What truly struck him was the moving, breathing tree trunk with the face and few green leaves sprouting from his head. Thor had not seen that before, even in his extensive travels.

The opposing groups faced off on the pad, the Asgardian keeping a hold on his hammer while the female beside him pointedly kept her hands at her sides.

"Nebula, you better have a damn good excuse for showing up now," barked the green-skinned beauty, her dark eyes flashing and the edge of her overcoat flapping as the winds picked up. The human male beside her leveled his own weapon, the pronged pistol threatening in its own right.

"And bringing Fabio with you," he followed up, flicking his eyes over the Asgardian. The unlikely duo glanced at each other, the marked lack of surprise on the features registering then. Inhaling deeply, the blue-skinned woman took one step forward, her palms out in placation.

"Gamora, Thanos is going after the stones," she said, locking eyes with the one she called sister. The other female's jaw dropped, horror and understanding dawning beneath the distrust.

"She speaks truly," the behemoth of a fellow behind her contributed, absolute seriousness on his face. Glancing down, he witnessed the raccoon creature adjust the grip on his gun, and the moving tree beside him staring blankly. The three males around Gamora glanced at her, knowing that whatever pertained to her sister was ultimately her call. Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered her blade, and her compatriots did the same.

"Good excuse," she grunted, her posture not loosening in the slightest. For her part, the blue-skinned female let the corner of her mouth curve.

"I thought so."

The one called Gamora shared a look with the human beside her, and let out a low breath. "Let's take this inside. Looks like we've got a lot to talk about, and we probably shouldn't do it within five feet of the security equipment."

She glanced around, the poles on each corner of the landing pad becoming all the more apparent in that instant. The Asgardian dipped his chin, cupping his free hand in the air.

"Wise decision," he murmured low, multiple sets of eyes trailing over him. Letting out another sigh, Gamora motioned for Nebula to precede her up the ramp, the tree picking up the raccoon and carrying the creature on his shoulders. The human male watched them go, and he grunted low.

"Debatable," he responded to the Asgardian's words. Looking over at the caped fellow, he let an eyebrow spike at his staring. "What?"

"I was not expecting another Midgardian this far out in the cosmos," Thor stated plainly. As Peter's brow furrowed in confusion, the towering fellow inclined his head. "You are from Earth, are you not?"

The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up, and his spine stiffened. "Yes."

The blond behemoth dipped his chin, the barest grin curving his lips. "Then I am glad to have found you, sir...?"

"Star-Lord," Quill answered, struck with the need to impress his title upon the other fellow. When that received little more than a nod and raised eyebrows, he let out a small sigh. Quietly, he amended, "Peter. Why?"

The taller fellow glanced away, closing his eyes briefly while adjusting the grip around his hammer. When he opened them and looked back at Quill, the human was surprised to find a measure of concern, and even pity.

"Because what we have to tell could come to your home, as well as mine," he confessed quietly. Blinking, Peter was gobsmacked as the bigger guy gestured to the ship, both of them finally heading inside and dread settling in his stomach.

Now, he was definitely banking on the arrival being very, very bad.

* * *

 **A/N:** Touching on Asgard and the Guardians of the Galaxy this time around. I'm supposing that, wherever Thanos is at that moment, he is much closer to Asgard than to Earth, so he would likely head there first for a stone.

We should be seeing action in the future, so I'm going to have ask you guys to sit tight and be patient...it is on the way!

Just so you guys know, I posted a new chapter in _Down the Hall_ recently, as well as a Sam-centric one-shot that is part of the _Of Time_ series, called _Heart and Home_. Please check those out if you feel so inclined!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	7. Chapter 7

A week and a half had passed since the team had absconded off to Asgard, and Maria Hill was still pleasantly surprised at how well things were running without them. Of course, the world had done without the Avengers for quite a long while before that, but it was something remark upon ever since the inception of the team. The secondary team had slid into place, accepting the increased missions calls and workload admirably, and the agents stationed at the home base were still dispatched on jobs of their own, as ever. Scott Lang was actually quite subdued, due to the magnitude of his friends' decisions, and was shouldering the responsibilities decently.

The looming unknowns of it all, of a great and terrible force headed their way did not sit well with her, but preparations were already in full swing, and she could confidently say that they were all coping in the absence of the rest of the top brass.

As base director, there was never a dearth of duties, from orders for certain parts of equipment to approvals for new weapons to be developed, and so she was kept thoroughly occupied as well. Though she did miss those who had left, she would not wallow, and therefore business proceeded much as it had since she'd first taken on the mantle years ago. That morning had been no different from others in many respects. She'd gotten to her office on the top floor by nine o'clock, her assistant stationed down the hall and prepped to dole out the necessary things she needed to accomplish that day. A stack of paperwork sat in her in tray, including approvals, proposals, and even a few leftover reports from the team's last mission before heading to Asgard to look over. After firing up her computer and setting her bag onto the floor, she got to work, checking her tablet and making sure her itinerary was followed as best as it could be. A call out to Coulson was on the docket, but that was not scheduled until after two o'clock, and she concluded she would be able to complete the paperwork in peace.

Just after she'd returned from a fast bathroom break, however, she was to be proven wrong. Her assistant had flagged her down as she passed, telling her that an urgent call was awaiting her in her office on the high definition display. Grimacing, she nodded in acceptance of it, striding with nearly perfect posture and poise into the room. Gracefully, she slid into her seat behind the desk, her gaze flicking fast over the screen to confirm the identity of the caller.

"Representative Hawley," Maria greeted the other woman. Pamela Hawley had been the Avengers' representative to the United Nations for nearly three years, and thus far, there were no regrets in having her be so. The brunette grinned as she glanced down at the paper stacks on the desk top, patting them almost proudly as she spoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She looked up then, and noticed the drawn look on the older woman's face. Physically, there was nothing wrong with Hawley; her silvered blonde bob (more silver those days) was combed into place, and from what she could tell, her suit jacket and shirt were pressed perfectly. Her office, too, was clean and in line, the portrait behind her in place and her desk accouterments lined up along the edges from what she could see. It was in her eyes that she could see something wrong. A modicum of concern and distaste were there, and Maria could feel dread build in her stomach as she began to anticipate the reasons why her colleague would appear that way.

"Ms. Hill, I thought you should know: Secretary Ross has been petitioning to bring a group onto the bases for the reassessment rounds," the older woman breathed, cutting to the chase. Her head inclined a fraction when Maria raised her eyebrows to confirm the truth of the matter. It was time for the representative to make the rounds of both Avengers outposts, and while she generally would have taken a bit of pleasure in the trip, she could no longer do so. Not with Thaddeus Ross doing his best, as ever, to horn in on the task force's homes and work spaces. Sighing aloud, she continued, "The president has given his approval, and the U.N. has authorized the trip."

Maria winced at that. It was one thing for Ross to try and get in with them again. It was quite another for him to force Hawley's hand by going around her for permissions and forcing the issue.

"I suspected he would be doing something to stay in the loop, since he was ousted as warden of the Raft," she speculated softly, tapping a thumb against the stack of proposals she'd just finished with. After the Avengers had given him the ultimatum of backing off or losing his credibility—not to mention his post, as was more than likely—he'd been even harder on the teams, doing his level best to question their competency and abilities at every turn. From Steve's withdrawal, to Bucky's installment as Captain America, and even to Chapman's continued connections with the CIA teams posted in Germany (she had to remember to give Sharon Carter a call; her romantic entanglement with Union Jack had her toeing some lines, and they had to be careful) were outright disparaged by the Secretary of State, despite there often being no good reason behind it. That he would try and push his way into another assessment trip wasn't out of the question, and she'd honestly been bracing for it for awhile.

But then, so had Hawley, and she knew that very well. So why the head's up?

"Yes, but I'm not calling merely for that," Hawley affirmed her thoughts, a hand patting at the curve of her bob. Dropping it to rest atop her other hand on her desk, she murmured, "I have it on good authority that Secretary Ross is coming to wheedle out what he can of the primary team's current location."

That had Hill's eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline. Publicly, the word had been given out that the team were deep undercover on a mission, and likely not to surface for months. Too dangerous, and too much red tape for anyone to wade through. The United Nations had, naturally, been apprised of the situation, but in order not to induce panic and rashness amidst the world's citizens, they kept the exact location and goals of the others under wraps. Obviously, that decision and its consequences were met with consternation, and now Ross was looking into discovering exactly what was being hidden from them all.

Raising her chin, she pronounced carefully, "He has no authority to access our information banks, nor would any team he brought with them. And the secondary team, plus Scott, are bound confidentially."

Hawley frowned even as she acknowledged the words with a nod. "I don't believe he intends to ask them. We have to face the fact that, while we have no right to dictate what certain members have done with their lives, a good portion of them have...social links that Ross would exploit. Him, or whoever else would be interested in what stray tidbits were given over."

The quiet that followed was intense, the whirs of the computer before her and the clicks of the air vents cutting sharply through the air of the base director's office. The implications of Hawley's words had her inwardly cringing. It should have been unthinkable for the man to even consider the notion of apprehending innocents due to their connections with the team, but it no longer was the case.

"Oh, no," Maria breathed, her eyes closing as a mental roster churned through her mind. Of the few she knew about, only one or two really were in danger of being apprehended for questioning, but it all still made her stomach turn at the notion. On her end of the call, the Avengers' representative frowned in commiseration.

"Yes," Hawley confirmed grimly. Folding her hands atop her desk, she shook her head and continued, "I have already spoke with Directors Coulson and Fury, and asylum is available aboard the helicarrier, should any need it. But we must remove all from the immediate vicinity of the bases as soon as possible."

Maria took in a deep breath, calculating the exact amount of paperwork and physical labor was going to be needed in the endeavor. Setting aside the proposals she'd finished, she half-turned to her computer, the keyboard under her fingers tapped at furiously for a few moments. A rough outline of all the things that would need to be taken care of, and for whom, was before her in minutes, and she sniffed sharply.

"How long do we have until Ross presses the issue?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow in question as she turned back to the digital display along the wall. Hawley fetched up her reading glasses from a portion of her desk that was off-screen, putting them on and retrieving a tablet of her own. When she tapped through it, she quirked her lips, looking up with a measure of hopefulness.

"I can give you three days to alert and evacuate the vulnerable parties," she stated, back straightening and her eyes maintaining their hold on her end. Maria bit the inside of her cheek. Three days was not a lot of time, but it was doable. Should everything be set into motion right away, it would be enough to get things set to rights and allow those who needed to distance themselves a head start. Tapping at her keyboard again, she added a few notes to the document of notes on her screen. Dipping her chin once, she resolved to make it work.

Looking at the wall display once more, she crooned, "Thank you, Pamela."

Hawley had the grace to look chagrined, even as the corner of her mouth curved. "I wish it didn't have to come to this. I apologize for it, but...I know at least one of the parties is not in the right place to be taken in for questioning."

Hill blinked at that, and barely managed to restrain a snort.

"A bit of an understatement there. I'll let you know when we're ready."

Hawley nodded, her tablet set down and her hands folding as she nodded in farewell. "See you in a few days, Maria."

With that, the feed cut off, and Maria was left in the silence. Contemplating all that would need to be done, she cleared her throat and shot a glance around the room.

"JJ, erase all recordings—audio, video, and otherwise—from the databanks," she instructed the AI connected to nearly all functions at the base. Stark's programs were functioning as ever, even without his presence, and had become theirs, in its own way. Waving a finger at thin air, she drove on, "This conversation never happened."

"Of course, Ms. Hill," the program confirmed aloud, the accented voice all politeness. A second or two passed, and then it spoke again, a marked level of concern in its manufactured tones. "Given the raised levels of stress I'm reading, would you like me to send out for headache medication and some water?"

Inhaling sharply, Maria closed her eyes briefly.

"Yes to the first, and strike the water for caffeine," she said, swiveling in her chair and picking up her tablet. Striking through the meeting she had scheduled, she grumbled, "This is going to be a long day."

"Yes, ma'am," JJ replied, and the brunette alternated between tapping at her computer and the tablet, the rest of the work she'd meant to do relegated back to the tray.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly sniffed and winced as she shuffled the contents of the file before her. Another day, another archives project, she mused inwardly. As she could be confident in her job's security; there was always more to find, catalog, and organize for the organization holding up the Avengers. And she was glad for it, as it helped keep her occupied since they had gone...since Steve had gone. A week and a half later, she was settled into a new routine, and diving deeply into work aided her in that regard.

A knock came at the door, and when she looked up, she smiled a little. Kay Szymik, testing agent and secret Inhuman, was on the other side, a paper bag in hand and a grin of her own on her lips. For the better part of the last week, she too had thrown herself into her work, unable to meet up for lunch with the other young woman as was their wont those days. However, Holly had received a text from her after she'd dropped Grant off at daycare, the blue-haired woman wondering if she wouldn't mind her picking up something from the cafeteria and bringing it down. Agreeing to the plan, she was glad to see it come to fruition. She missed her friend, one of the few she had at the base. Pushing the file folder away, she waved for her to come in, relaxing back into her chair when she complied.

"Hey," Kay greeted the brunette, settling down in the chair across the desk from her. Placing the bag on the desk top, they both took a moment to inhale as the scent of grilled chicken and marinara sauce permeated the air. It didn't take long to divvy up the contents between them: a grilled chicken salad for Kay, and lasagna for Holly (the baby had demanded it, and she wasn't about to deny the infant growing inside her). For a long time, neither spoke, each of them taking a few minutes to merely eat and sit in the quiet. Soon enough, though, one of them had to break it. Swallowing down a bite, Kay steeled herself and forced out the question she knew Holly was likely waiting for. "How are you holding up, you and the little guy?"

Inhaling sharply, Holly poked her fork into the noodles and meat before her, blinking rapidly.

"It's...it's tough, but we're making it work. Grant still asks for Daddy before bed every night, and the ballerina in my womb is not making things easy," she confessed, shaking her head and trying to keep herself steady. Not that her whole life revolved around him, but Steve was both her husband and her closest friend. It was difficult for him to be away, to wake up every morning and find his side of the bed cold and empty. It was tough to not have his steadfast companionship and affection, for both her and their boy. They were getting by, but there was no denying the hole left behind by his absence. Thinking of something else, she let out a breathy chuckle. "Strangely enough, Bonnie has been the most chill part of the whole situation."

The blue-haired woman gave a chortle at that. "Dogs, gotta love 'em."

Holly's lips quirked a bit, and she tilted her head to the left, examining her companion. "And what about you? Can't imagine it would be much easier for you without Sam."

Kay's smile faded somewhat, and she shrugged a shoulder.

"I haven't slept in the bed since he left, so that should tell you something. Don't know if I'll be able to until he comes back." After her profession, she clicked her tongue and leaned back in her chair, the remains of her salad pushed away. "Y'know, out of all the things I've seen and done, I hadn't thought I would be a soldier's partner. It's so hard."

"Yeah," Holly concurred before the words truly registered. When they did, her brow screwed up in curiosity. "Wait, you never..."

The other woman smirked slightly, shaking her head. "Nope. Before Sammy, it was strictly civilians. And very casual. I didn't want to be with someone...with a job like I had. It was difficult when it was just my life. Now, it's my life _and_ my boyfriend's."

The brunette hummed low in her throat, her fork stabbing a little harder into her food. "At least with the actual army, we would be able to get letters or emails every once in awhile."

Considering that this was the most the wife of the commander had ever really complained in the presence of others, Kay let it slide. For not having been a soldier's partner before meeting Steve, Kay had to admit that she fit into the perceived role rather well. Still, it somewhat assuaged her that Holly didn't constantly spout about needing to stay strong and the importance of what those they cared about were doing. It was just a fact of their lives, and they went on with their own, absorbing it and carrying on. Privately, she hoped she would be able to continue to do the same.

"Yeah," she responded, running a hand over her ponytail. Brushing out the ends of it, she shot Holly a smirk, snickering slightly. "This is a fun pity party we're throwing here, huh?"

A genuine laugh poured out of Holly then, the giggles going a ways in relieving the weight that had been ever-present in her chest.

"I suppose so," she intoned, smiling back at her friend. A second later, her eyes were drawn away from her, fixing on the door. "Oh, wow."

"What?" Kay asked, brow furrowing as she turned to look. Her own eyebrows shot up when she spotted the new arrival on the other side of the door. Maria Hill, the director of the base's operations, was there, attired in a smart business dress and her face set in a purposefully placid expression. Sharing a glance with her friend, she left it up to Holly to bid the woman to enter, given that it was her office.

"Maria, hi," she said, unable to think of anything better as she entered the room. Her mind was swirling with questions. It wasn't often that Holly and Maria interacted with each other personally; they got along well enough, but they had their own lives and separate duties to perform. And their common link had been removed from the premises for nearly two weeks as it was. It was strange, having her come down to the ground floor and the archives department.

(It was strange to her coworkers as well, as some of them had taken to milling just outside her door. A stern look shot from the director made them scatter, and she took it upon herself to lower the inset blinds for privacy.)

"Holly, Kayla," she replied eventually, nodding to each woman in turn. Her fingers clenched hard around the handle of a briefcase she had carried, the thin lines in her forehead creasing as she continued, "I would say that this is perfect, but...what I've got to talk to you about isn't."

At once, Holly was leaning forward in her seat, a hand pressed to her pregnant swell and her dark eyes wide.

"What? What happened? Did you hear from—"

Realizing how her words had sounded, Hill's free hand brushed through the air, reassurance painted upon her features.

"No, no," she hastened to say, her bright eyes darting from Holly to Kay swiftly. Stepping closer to the desk, she murmured, "As far as I know, there's no news to report on the team."

Kay's dark eyes grazed over her, and her shoulders relaxed minutely. "No news is good news, I guess."

Anxiously, Holly continued to look at Maria, spying the tension in her form. "But...?"

The other brunette let out a short sigh, understanding that she would not be able to conceal the truth for much longer.

"But, I did receive word on something that will affect the pair of you," Maria supplied, canting her head. For a moment, she considered a point over Holly's head, and then she shrugged. "Well, you and a couple of others, but you both are my most immediate concerns."

Kay and Holly shared another look, the blue-haired agent spiking an eyebrow. The seated brunette inclined her head, and then they both nodded at Hill.

"Okay. What's going on?" the wife of the commander asked, gesturing for her to come forward (feel like a bloated, imperious queen as she did so, and not relishing it in the least). Holding up a one-minute finger, Maria strode over to an empty outlet by the file cabinet along the far wall. She dug around in the case she'd brought with, pulling out a three-pronged object that looked like a charger for a cell phone, save for the speaker opening atop it. Plugging it in, an inset LED light flashed, the light overhead flickering briefly.

"Hello, Director Hill, Agent Szymik, Mrs. Rogers," came a familiar, accented voice, and Holly shook her head to herself. A remote for JJ, she realized the box to be, since the private offices beyond those of Maria's and the team's had access to him. The other two women gave their hellos, and Hill crossed her arms over her chest.

"JJ, institute privacy protocols, please," she instructed the AI, an affirmative given from it. The LED light flashed, and what appeared to be a light orange film radiated out from it. The walls and door were coated with it for a few seconds, the AI declaring the office to be locked down when it had faded from sight. When that was finished, Maria came closer to the desk, her briefcase set on the floor and her hip resting against the edge of the desk as she explained the reason for her visit. The United Nations representative was scheduled to do an inspection of the bases, purely for reassessment of inventory and to see what needed repairs and such. However, Secretary Ross had shouldered his way into the process (again, which Holly knew well; she remembered Steve's dislike of the fellow, and his distaste after his visit two years ago). His intentions, however, were not as honorable as he claimed them to be on the surface. As it turned out, he intended to corner those with personal connections to specific team members and apply pressure on them to supply him with answers. It was unethical, and in some cases unlawful, but his agenda was clear—Hawley had her own spies within his offices, and thank goodness, they had done well.

Incredulity was written all over Holly's features when Maria reached the end of her story. Incredulity, and not a little bit of anger.

"You really think they would try to corner us and get us to spill potential secrets?" she blurted, the hand upon her belly clenching into a fist and bunching her shirt. The deadly seriousness in Maria's face spoke volumes, but she did elect to respond.

"They would, Holly. Ross in particular. We've burned him over the last few years, and honestly, even we hadn't, I wouldn't put it above him to try and grab whoever he could just to squeeze out details from anyone connected to the Avengers." A derisive chuckle shot out of her, and she tapped her fingers along the desk top. "Despite the HR headaches, I gotta say I'm happy most of them are either single or dating each other. Confidentiality will protect them."

Despite knowing the statement was not issued to hurt her, Holly did feel a sting from it. She never viewed her marriage and relationship with Steve as compromising, but others could take it to be that way. And exploit it, she mused dully.

"Any possibility of a restraining order?" she uttered aloud, the dread at the back of her mind telling her she was grasping at straws.

"Not without cause," Hill intoned darkly, the set of her jaw telling how much she hated giving that answer. "And unfortunately, there has been no cause. Yet."

Kay, having remained silent in her seat, flashed Holly a sympathetic look, which was met with a suddenly exhausted one in turn,

"So what can we do? Or, I guess, what can I do, since I'm the one who still maintains a public record?" the brunette wondered, the bite in her voice causing agent and director to flinch. Picking up her briefcase then, Maria began to open the clasps to it.

"You're not the only one. I still have yet to talk to Agent Carter, and that'll be interesting. In your case, it would be best if you left the area," she told her, digging through the papers inside. "And, until Steve comes back, it would be best to stay away in the meantime."

Holly's eyebrows rose, the fading scar above the right one highlighted as she did so. "How long?"

Hill let out a long breath. That was another thing that was difficult for her to tell, for more reasons than the inconvenience factor.

"Minimum of two months, at least. It depends on how hard Ross drives for answers and what happens...out there."

Glancing up, she noted the other woman's reaction was about what she expected. Holly's jaw had gone slack, her tongue frozen for several long moments. When she did find the wherewithal to speak again, the indignation flared up from within.

"Maria...I, I can't. My job is here, my home is here," she crowed, building up steam as she went on, "I've got bills and a mortgage and everything, and my kids—"

Papers were slapped in front of her then, cutting off her growing tirade against seeking shelter. Holly's gaze scanned over them, her name showing up periodically on the documents. Taking a minute to paw through them, she let the shock inside her bloom on her face. Everything that had required payments of any sort, from loans to even her car payment, were listed, ordered neatly and precisely, all awaiting signatures from her. An ordered redirection of the mail was put forth for everything that did not involve the exchange of money, as well. Beneath it, a document entitled, "Travel Itinerary" waited, spaces open for her to fill in as necessary. Maria met her surprise with calm.

"Because of the inconvenience this is putting your family in, I have authorized you going on an extended leave of absence," she said, motioning for her to continue looking through the papers. True to her word, the needed paperwork for any employee of the base to take time off was tucked in as well. Lifting a shoulder, Hill continued, "A paid leave of absence that will go into effect once your maternity leave is up. I took the liberty of setting up electronic payments to be doled out monthly for all your bills and everything. All you would have to do is fill in the necessary information and grant approval."

Cupping a hand over her mouth, Holly could not find the words to respond, and Maria took advantage of her silence. Another sheaf of papers came to hand, though it was significantly less than what she'd put before the other brunette. Swiftly, she handed those over to Kay, who blinked rapidly at the documents in her hands.

"And Kay, I'm willing to do the same for you, if you wish," she said, lowering the case to the floor again. Glancing at the blue-haired woman, Maria interjected, "However, another option has been presented to you instead due your status. Either Director Fury or Coulson have openings for you in the field or on the helicarrier, whichever you'd prefer. Any bills and such could be handled through electronic payment as well."

Kay's blinking slowed, and she could only snort at that.

"Even with my landlord?" she tried to joke, which made the director smirk slightly despite it falling flat. When she nodded, Kay exhaled sharply, her dark eyes darting back to Holly. Maria's blue eyes followed, taking in the younger woman seated at the desk. She looked so lost in that moment, so confused and adrift. It was a little painful to see her that way, to know that the last portion of security for herself and her child (children, including the unborn Rogers she carried) needing to be put aside, and a twinge registered in her heart for her. Particularly as she still had more to say on the matter.

"Holly, I'm sorry to put another stipulation on this, but I wouldn't advise you to go to your family when you leave," she professed then, and the dark gaze sprang onto her, an ember of hope dying in her eyes. Maria had known that the young woman before her would go to her parents if she was put in the position of leaving the area, but she wasn't the only one who would guess that outcome. Cupping a hand in the air, she pointed out, "If you're spotted in Minnesota, they might converge on them, too."

And lead them into danger, which Holly would never do. The confusion dissipated, leaving a sort of bitter humor behind when Holly met her eye-line.

"You're really not leaving me with a lot of options here, Maria," she replied, running a hand over her face.

"I know," the other brunette said, sympathy in her gaze despite her rigid posture. "I wish it didn't have to happen at all."

Holly snorted at that. "I wish I had Pepper's clout and public standing. They'd never take her by surprise. Or at all."

A part of her truly ached for that to be applicable to her. Pepper, with her position as the CEO of one of the largest tech conglomerates in the world (not to mention with her own search and rescue team, and a bodyguard ring to boot), was likely the safest of them all. There was no way the senator would be able to detain her for any period of time without public uproar following closely behind it. And, sadly, it would not be possible for Holly to shield herself under the other woman's umbrella. As CEO of the company, responsible for so many functions within and charities without, Pepper was constantly moving between the L.A. and New York offices, her protection going with her. Unless she stayed put at the Tower for longer than a week, Holly would not be able to seek shelter with her. At that stage of her pregnancy, flying was incredibly frowned upon, and she was reluctant to do so, anyway.

"No, I don't anticipate things getting out of hand with her," Maria had to concede. A flicker of something streaked along her irises in the quiet that followed, and she leveled Holly with a knowing look. "Can you think of any place you could go with your son?"

About to answer in the negative, Holly caught herself, a solution presenting itself.

"...Yeah. One place," she nearly whispered, concentrating on the thought and scratching at the back of her neck. "It'll be crowded, though."

Kay spiked an eyebrow at the exchange, her lack of understanding going unanswered as the director's lips curved up.

"Somehow, I don't think it will be too much of an issue," Hill said, catching Kay's look and shaking her head minutely. The less said about it, the better, and the agent was able to pick up on that nonverbal cue. Once the younger brunette nodded compliance, Maria plucked up pens from the cup beside Holly's computer, holding them out to the two women. Kay took hers, beginning to sign the necessary documents to disappear from the base, Holly's etchings only a few seconds behind hers.

 **xXxXxXx**

"So what's the title they came up with for you?" Holly asked, another bag in hand for the truck. Her own car was at the base, a set of keys turned over into Maria's care along with the ones for Steve's motorcycle (it had remained under its cover in the garage, the outbuilding locked up tightly since then). Steve's truck would be better suited for the long haul across the country, and able to take more than her Avenger could. She wasn't terribly confident in driving the bigger vehicle, but she needed the additional safety and storage. After all, where she was going, she was intending to not impose any more than she already was. The grace period Hawley had given to over for the removal of those who could be singled out by Senator Ross was nearly at an end, and it had taken that amount of time for all the paperwork and such to be approved. Kay had chosen to go to the helicarrier, taking up a position on-board at the field director's behest, while Holly had made alternate plans of her own. She'd found a safehouse, far away from the base, and that was all she would say on the matter.

Kay had graciously offered to help her pack up the vehicle for her departure the next morning. The blue-haired agent had finished at her own apartment hours beforehand, a single duffel perched in the back of her Jeep for her flight out that night. As she wrestled in both the folded playpen and a travel bassinet where the box met the cab, she blew out a short breath.

"Weapons and Testing Supervisor. Basically, I'll be doing what I do here on the carrier," she told her friend, the two pieces finally laying down below the lip of the box. It was true; Fury had taken it upon himself to institute her thusly, and she was glad there would be little transition confusion. Hooking a leg over the side of the truck, she dropped down and mumbled, "And be deployed even faster for search and rescue, if needed."

Opening up the rear door of the cab, Holly nodded as she shoved the bag under the seat. "And all your set-ups with Maria are in place?"

"Yep," Kay called out, jogging to the back of the house and fetching up a packed box of supplies for the infant on the way. As she came back around to the parked vehicle, she crowed, "Electronic check payments that go out every month on a fixed day. My landlord was surprisingly okay with it. Easy money to make when there's nobody living there."

Holly chuckled at that, going and grabbing up a packed suitcase. Handing it up and over to Kay to place in the box beside the others, she swiped a hand over her brow.

"At least you can visit, and be sneaky enough to get by whoever will be watching out for us."

The other woman shot her a glance, but knew better than to deny the truth. She had been trained as an agent for years, had learned to blend into any environment as was necessary. Unfortunately, Holly was unable to do so, and it would be pointless to teach her beyond what she already knew from experience with her husband and the team. Instead, she chose to ask another question of her friend as she jumped out of the box and onto the ground.

"How'd your family take the news?"

Holly rolled her eyes, a grimace playing across her lips, walking alongside her as they both went to get more stuff for the trip.

"Mom freaked out openly, and my dad looked petrified. I'm pretty sure they had some choice words to say about Steve, but thankfully, they didn't." She did not tell them what was going on beyond the surface story given—it was safer that way—but the idea of her and their grandson essentially going into hiding had compacted upon the worry they had for him. If they knew why he'd gone, she knew it would've been much worse. Exhaling sharply, she muttered, "I promised to call them again in a little while. Maria had the tech department debug and remove my digital footprint from both my phone and my laptop, and with StarkTech installed, it shouldn't be a problem."

The two women shared a relieved look at that, both of them grateful for the steps the director had taken to erase their marks from the world. The installed software and hardware put into their pieces would allow them access, but they would act like burners, and when joined with StarkTech, it meant that they wouldn't even register as a ping on any towers. IPs and other signatures had been eradicated and logged under other names. It would throw whoever would go looking for them off the scent for quite awhile.

Tipping her head back, Holly concluded that her siblings were also being informed of her going away, her parents taking that responsibility off her shoulders. Kay hummed at that, grabbing up the cooler stationed by the back door. It would keep overnight, the food inside actually non-perishable.

(Holly had removed all quickly-expiring foods from the house earlier that day, giving them over to Scott to make use of them. The older man had only been able to hug her, a promise to keep an eye open for her while she was gone surfacing before she'd left the base.)

"What about Sarah?" Kay wondered, naming off the best friend Holly had not seen in awhile. The blonde dancing instructor lived in Maryland, but the two kept in close contact despite the distance. It was highly unlikely that the commander's wife had kept her leaving a secret from her, even if she did not tell of the destination. Holly groaned at that, but maintained a tight grin.

"Upset as well, but she doesn't need the additional pressure. Not from me, anyway," she said, the conversation that had ended mere moments before Kay had arrived streaking through her mind. Sarah was quite vocal about her removal as well, and even her husband Aaron had something to say about it, but in the end, she merely demanded that she be safe. It was the most she could do.

Kay nodded, expecting as much. "And your book?"

"It'll work itself out. It's nearly ready for print, and the office is managing it per my contract, anyway. That doesn't concern me as much as archives does." Catching the other woman's raised brow, she elaborated, "My immediate boss is supremely pissed that Maria authorized leave, and is keeping me in my job. I expect I'll be punished accordingly whenever I do come back to work."

The young agent frowned in sympathy, knowing firsthand how much of a hardass the head of archives was on people. In spite of her good nature and strong work ethic, the guy disliked Holly purely because he thought nepotism had forced their hands in regards to hiring her. Legally, he could not stop her from getting raises or such things, but he did not attempt any form of conciliation with her. If she had gone to him on her own, requesting the leave of absence even for her safety, he likely would have parlayed that into an eventual lay-off or firing, using the time she was gone to cite some excuse. With that option taken away, she was sure there would be hell to pay once she came back.

Maybe it would be better if she applied for a transfer to another department once the whole mess was over, but she would not think about it for the moment. There was too much to do at present, and they had to see it done.

Between her and Kay, Steve's truck was stuffed full of all that she could think would be needed for the trip, the keys jingling in her grip as she clicked the locks. Kay had pulled down the covering for the box, latching into place for her. The pair of women had retreated to the house, the toddler fetched up from his crib and seated with them as they ate the take-out the blue-haired woman had brought from the diner in town. Every so often, Holly would get up, taking pictures of all the rooms of the house. She'd needed it for the sake of inventory, she'd muttered, but her friend knew better. She had done the same thing with her apartment, wanting to have a piece of home with her before she had to leave it behind. When the meal was finished, and the agent had taken the corgi out for a bathroom break, it was time for them all to part ways. Grant had hugged his mother's friend at her bidding, squirming when she set him back in the safety of the crib again (he was appeased with a few toys left over, the ones that did not make the cut for traveling).

"You're scared," Kay pointed out as they walked back outside, Holly escorting her to her car. The brunette woman couldn't find the strength to deny it, and instead simply nodded.

"Yeah. Grant already is missing his daddy, and now I've gotta take him away from his home for God knows how long," she said, her voice breaking slightly. Even if Grant forgot about their home in the weeks that followed, she would not be able to, and she hated to think of it. Biting her lip, she paused in her steps, sucking in a deep breath. "This sucks, Kay."

"Yeah. Yeah, it does," the blue-haired agent intoned, agreeing wholeheartedly. Running a hand through her hair, she suddenly reached and drew Holly into a hug. The brunette responded after a fast moment of shock, gripping her back. Kay did not often break out into friendly displays of affection beyond what she did with Sam, and she understood that the other woman was just as affected by what they needed to do. Taking in a deep breath, she murmured, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Holly replied, her voice only a couple notches above a whisper. "Good luck."

"Same to you. I'll try and get in touch as soon as I can," Kay told her, patting her back once more before drawing away. Slowly, she crossed over to her Jeep, waving at her friend before climbing into the cab. The engine came to life, and the vehicle crunched down the driveway, maneuvering around the parked truck and out onto the main road. The sound of it died away in the spring evening, and Holly took in a deep breath, hands laying protectively over her belly before she turned and went back into the house.

Early the next morning, before the sun was even fully up, Holly was awake. She'd only managed a fitful rest for the night, dreams filled with all that she feared and worried about in the daylight hours. However, once she had woken—a half hour before her alarm was set—she did not think it possible to go back to sleep. As she took Bonnie outside, she brought her phone with her, intent on making a couple of calls. One was to Maria, assuring her of her plan to set out that morning, and asking for confirmation on the hotel room that had been booked for her and her family. Knowing that Hill would likely call in later, she stared down at the screen, the grip of her other hand firm as she held the corgi's leash. Letting out a shaky breath, she scrolled through her contacts, selecting one more person to call.

When the recorded baritone voice implored her to leave a message, and that the recipient would get back to her as soon as possible, she was hard-pressed to keep a calm facade.

"Steve, I know you can't call me back, not for awhile," she murmured, a rueful grin tugging at her lips for a second or two before fading away. "Especially since your phone is right where you left it, in your nightstand, but...if you make it back before we do, I just want you to know Grant and I are safe. We just had to leave to stay that way. Call and come find us if you beat us back home."

A catch caught in her throat, but she pushed past it to say one more thing.

"I miss you, love. We both do."

Her thumb jabbed at the screen when she pulled the phone away, the message left and the weight in her chest pushing against her ribs for a few seconds. Bonnie gave a little yip, bringing her out of her saddened musings and back into the present. With her morning ablutions cared for, she led the small dog to the truck, opening the passenger door and bending down as far as she could. The corgi met her halfway, jumping into her open arms and letting herself be hoisted up onto the seat. Her harness was clipped to the seat one, keeping her safe as she hunkered down. Tucking her leash under the seat, Holly closed the door and went back into the house. Taking each step carefully, she went up the stairs to the bedroom, the backpack she'd prepared the night before still waiting for her. Changing quickly, she bundled her sleepwear into the bag, the last of her toiletries joining it. At the door, she paused, bustling back to the dresser to grab one more thing. It was the picture frame she'd painted for Steve's birthday years ago, the photograph of the pair of them within faded slightly. Still, she shoved it into her bag, unable to leave it behind. Placing the straps around her shoulders, she shut off the light and closed the door firmly behind her, clearing her throat before striding to her son's room.

Grant was woken by her as she entered, garbled sounds emitting from him as she scooped him up. Changing his diaper, she bundled him into a flannel shirt and tiny jeans, little boots laced onto his feet as she readied him for the day. Snatching up the stuffed lamb that he loved so much, she was about to carry him out when he kicked his legs, insisting on walking in spite of being barely awake.

"Mama, we go?" Grant crowed sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand as he toddled beside his mother. He held her hand tightly as she led the way down the stairs, big blue eyes full of trust as she guided him down.

"Yep, we're going on a little trip, buddy," she reminded him, bringing him to the landing and stopping him short to grab up his jacket from the closet. That done, she took his hand again, bringing him out of the house via the front door. Tapping in the code, her dark eyes watched as the emergency protocols slid into place, blackout controls on the windows and the shielding system firing up as she brought Grant down and off the porch. Soon enough, they were at the truck, the back door opened and the bagged dirty diaper tucked away with the trash from the night before, all to be thrown at a gas station in the future.

"Why?" he wondered, obligingly going into Holly's arms when she opened them to him. Swinging him up, she started strapping him into his car seat, fingers methodically clipping and buckling where it was needed.

"Because we gotta stay safe, like Daddy wanted us to," she stated, softening her words with a grin. Tipping her head to their locked-down home, she murmured, "And to do that, we need to leave the house for awhile."

At the mention of his father, Grant brightened considerably. Wide blue eyes turned to her as he asked, "Daddy come?"

Holly turned her head then to check out Bonnie in the passenger seat, which afforded her the chance to swallow against the hard lump in her throat.

"No, sweetheart. Daddy's not coming," she explained, the pouting lip her boy gave her tugging at her heartstrings. Gently, she smoothed down his hair, planting a peck on his forehead. His stuffed lamb was pressed into his hands, and he cuddled it as she placed a blanket across his lap. Closing him up in the back, she went up to the driver's side, grunting and wriggling her way up behind the wheel for a few moments. Forcing a smile onto her face, the false brightness in her tone grated on her ears as she continued, "It'll be just you, me, and Bonnie. We'll have fun, and be able to tell him all about it when he comes home."

"Yeah," the little boy crooned, the tiredness in his voice returning. Letting out a slow breath, Holly cast one more glance in the mirror, watching the image reflecting from the one strapped onto the headrest before him. Her son was nearly asleep again, Bonnie hunkering down as well. Slowly, she turned her gaze back onto the house, the home she'd made with her husband a little under three years. Inwardly, she was praying that Maria's estimation would be correct, and, while she would most likely have her second child away from it, she would be bringing her and the rest of them back again shortly afterward. Clearing her throat, she leaned forward a bit, the press of her belly making it slightly difficult. Tapping at the console built into the car, she retrieved a digital GPS map, the path plotted out before her. Shielding wrapped around the truck as well, its own footprint removed and hiding them as they prepared to leave. With a final request to JJ to stay on high alert at the house, she put the car into gear, the vehicle crawling slowly out of the driveway.

The slate blue house faded into the trees as she turned onto the main road, her eyes focused on the sprawling blacktop. It would take at least two days to get to their destination, and though their trail was covered by Hill and JJ, it wouldn't do to fall behind on the schedule.

* * *

 **A/N:** ...And so Holly and Grant have to go away, too. I totally wouldn't put it past Senator Ross to try and corner those he could to get answers about the Avengers' secrets, even if it is unlikely that they have all the details. Thank goodness for Hawley and her own agents, huh?

I needed some Maria Hill in this, because...well, it's been awhile since she's been more involved in these stories, and it was just time.

Take a guess as to where Holly and her family are going. I bet you knew before I even put it to you. ;)

No Steve or the team this time, but we will be getting back to them soon! Like, next chapter-soon, so just hang on until then.

The poll is still up on my page, if you wish to vote. And I did do a one-shot for this universe, involving Sam, which I hope you will check out if you haven't done so yet. And, as always, I do have a Twitter account that you can all follow for story updates and random life updates from me (mostly about me indulging in fanfic and this fandom itself, haha).

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	8. Chapter 8

The _Milano_ cut through space, the distant stars streaking past the plexiglass windows of the craft. With the exception of the whirring consoles and the beeping tracking devices, silence reigned in the open pit area. After the encounter with Nebula and her new-found ally, the Guardians had heard them out. Their message, as it appeared, was definitely not a good one, as Quill had surmised. Indeed, it seemed that Gamora and Nebula's father, the mad Titan Thanos, was on the rampage that time. Disappointment and setbacks of others had finally driven him to the point of searching out the stones he had been craving to find. It would mean the subservience and subjugation, not to mention destruction, of every life form in the galaxy...in the universe...if a final stand was not taken.

Of course, the Guardians of the Galaxy were hesitant to take them at their word, but they themselves had passed the torn wreckage of ships, the destruction of settlements whose survivors screamed against a rogue army tearing through them for the sake of a small prize. It was difficult to ignore, but they would not risk taking Nebula at her word.

However, the godlike Asgardian at her side corroborated her story, and was willing to supplement them with gold taken from his father's coffers. He was, after all, the prince.

Little more convincing was needed, at least on the monetary front. And, as Rocket pointed out, it wouldn't hurt to get on the good side of royalty, for once (finally mastering the subtle winking he'd taken up some time ago).

After that, they'd taken off, following Nebula's smaller ship as she navigated out into the cosmos and back toward Asgard. Rocket had taken it upon himself to pilot the ship, while the others tended to readying hand weapons and other materials at the back benches. Occasionally, they would shout to him for assembly assistance, and he'd bark back about the correct wires and pieces to attach. Gamora, having honed her blade and cleaned her blaster, perched beside Peter in one of the chairs. He did not even acknowledge her presence. Ever since the agreement to lend aid to Nebula (with the promise of a payout from the god), he'd been virtually silent, and it had been made a reality a few jumps prior. Hardly a word passed his lips; he could barely tear his gaze away from his lap.

She was uncomfortable with Peter's quiet, for it was not calm. It was disturbed, roiling beneath the surface, and she could not stand it any longer.

"Peter," Gamora murmured, tapping at the human male's shoulder. "Peter."

Shaken out of his thoughts, he grunted, "Hmm?"

Guessing at where his thoughts tended, she kept her expression purposefully placid.

"If you would rather...I don't expect you to stick around for this," she offered, catching Rocket's backward glance and silencing him with a muted glare. The creature shrugged and faced forward again, muttering under his breath, but Peter had not paid attention to the exchange. Instead, he continued to stare down into his lap, fingers fiddling with musical device he'd been given some time ago. Suppressing a wince, she forced herself to go on. "If you all want to head out after dropping me at Asgard, you can."

Peter finally looked up then, his eyes bright with the repressed pain and anguish surfacing in the irises. Ever since the arrival of Nebula and her godlike companion, he'd been uneasy. Not entirely because of the challenge they presented to them—although, that certainly would have been enough, had he been pressed to comment—but because of the danger that reached beyond them.

Terra, Earth, was under threat. Not immediate threat, but because it held stones of great power, it would be the epicenter of battle before very long. And Nebula and Gamora's father would be the one leading the charge. He would destroy it, and the god's planet, for standing in his way on the final steps. His old home...his mother's home...would be gone, the wreckage of it matching settlements across the galaxy. He and the other Guardians had seen the damages wrought, had heard the rumors like everyone else had at the spaceports, but he hadn't thought that the great madman would turn his attention to Earth. Very few had a high opinion of it, and therefore it merited very little attention.

Until the last few years, that is. Until the stories of a band of humans having stood up against rogue Chitauri warriors and winning had reached beyond the edges of their map. In truth, he'd given it his cursory attention (much like a fan of a football team that couldn't go to games, he realized, his memory of the sport fuzzy at best but still there), but he hadn't thought it would come to this.

He hadn't thought it would bring him back so close to home.

Swallowing hard against his distress, and pushing against the dull ache in his heart, he straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

"We're not gonna ditch you there, Gamora. I'm not. Besides, I can't let..." he trailed off, his voice cracking the slightest bit. Coughing once, he shook his head and pulled his shoulders back, staring straight ahead. Keeping his focus on the windows, on the passing stars, he whispered to her, "Even if I can't go back there, I'm not gonna let your psychotic adoptive father destroy Earth. We'll figure this out."

Understanding the courage in his statement, the green-skinned beauty laid her palm on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing circles against the thick shell of his coat in an effort to soothe. His own hand came up, the larger appendage covering hers and patting briefly. He could barely summon a smile, but the little he could do had her squeezing his shoulder in solidarity. Her warm touch was removed then, and her attention was back on the creature at the helm, with her taking the spot in the second seat. Quietly, she inquired after the remaining travel time, the creature navigating the ship reaching out and tapping a few display keys quickly.

"One more jump, and..." he stated, guiding the M-ship into the jumping point. Sliding through seamlessly, it took less than a few minutes for them to follow after Nebula's bronze craft to the glowing point in the distance. Slowly, it formed into tower peaks and planes, buildings looming high into the sky as the star warming the land glowed brightly. Beyond the city were mountainous peaks; a long, refracting bridge of light and color stretching to a golden dome at the end. The shades of bronze, gold, and yellow sparkled in the daylight, the brilliance of it dawning on them. Mantis, Drax, and Groot rose from their consoles and seats, gazing out at the new city.

"Holy crap," Rocket breathed, having not expected so much shininess like that when it didn't belong to the Sovereign. A spike of dread filled him at that; he hoped the people who lived here would have a better sense of humor than those tools.

Over the comm systems, the warm and deep voice of the god seemed to echo around them in the cockpit. "Welcome to Asgard."

Peter was looking out as well, his gaze focusing beyond the gilt of the exteriors. Pockmarks liberally decorated the buildings, evidence of the mighty battles that had preceded their arrival. And while a good portion of the city appeared golden, he could see that it was reflective paneling that made it so. The sun's rays were responsible for its brightness, for the most part.

"Huh. I was expecting a bit more majesty for a mythical place," he muttered aloud, spiking an eyebrow at the city once more. "And less...holes."

A crackle came over the comm line, which distinctly sounded like a deep harrumph.

"The last years have been laden with danger and assault on all sides. How good do you think your city would look after that?" Thor pointed out, his tone deceptively mild and laden with reprimand. The others shot Quill significant glances and he crossed his arms, a form of petulance on his features.

"...Still looks like Swiss cheese," he riposted.

"Peter," Gamora hissed, cutting him off with a sharp look. Pressing the button to comm out to Nebula's ship, she told them. "We'll follow you in."

Nebula confirmed the message, her smaller craft dipping down then. Following deftly, Rocket guided the _Milano_ to land beside it on an upper platform near what Thor announced to be the palace. The gild on it was the real deal, Peter noted as he shrugged deeper into his coat, his blasters holstered and his mask strapped to his belt just in case. Thus armed and prepared, he led the way out, Gamora on his right. Rocket brought up the rear with Groot, Drax and Mantis in the center as they left the ship. Going down the hatch, a cool burst of air whipped around them, making Peter glad of his coat in that instant. Nebula and Thor stepped out of her craft, capes and cloaks donned against the breeze. Cocking his head to the right, Quill opened his mouth to ask what they would do next, when the blond god raised a single finger. Off his knowing look, Peter screwed up his brow in confusion.

The nearest door burst open then, Asgardians in gleaming armor and flowing capes streaming out. Spears and other assorted weapons were in hand, and sternness was etched into their face as they ringed the new arrivals. After they had completed their formation and bowed to the crown prince, the door opened again. That time, Peter watched as true humans exited the palace, which were few and far between on his travels. And now, no less than seven had appeared on the landing pad. At their head was a blond man, his hair combed back and his lower jaw covered in a beard. He went right up to Thor, the god raising a hand before enfolding him in a hug. Two young women, one auburn-haired and the other a redhead, stood to one side, the pair of them sharing significant looks. Two brunet men, one tall and swathed in black robes while the second sported a band tee, edged away from one another, a sandy-haired fellow bearing a quiver pressing between them. Against the wall leaned a darker-skinned fellow, his eyes watching all and a light smirk pulling at his lips.

"My friends," Thor greeted them, something akin to relief seeming to spread through him.

"Glad you're back," the blond man returned, smiling despite the weariness in his face.

The shorter, brunet man at his side nodded and muttered something, which made the god chuckle. When he turned from profile to fully face the newcomers, Quill could not quell a gasp in shock.

"Oh, my God," he mumbled, taking in the familiar face. Granted, it had been around twenty years since he'd seen it plastered in magazines he wasn't sure his mom would have been proud of him for looking at, but he did know it. Pointing a finger at him, he puffed, "You're...you're Tony Stark."

While his friends had no idea who the guy was, Peter certainly did. The last he'd heard, the guy was being prepped to take on more responsibilities in his parents' company, which was a major tech conglomerate. He was a genius, brilliant, and earning a reputation as something of a ladies' man. As an eight-year-old, that was hard to understand, but eventually Quill could examine the past and have a good idea of what it all meant. After Hasselhoff, and Stamos, and others, Stark was on the list of people he would've considered an idol.

However, his bright gaze narrowed on something unavoidable about the man, which prompted him to lose his smug smile.

"What?" Stark questioned, raising an eyebrow. Caught off-guard, Peter could not help but blurt what was on his mind.

"You got old."

A long moment of silence followed, the older man staring at the younger, his jaw dropped slightly. Suddenly, a snicker was heard, all heads turning in the direction of the taller brunet man. His

"What's the saying? 'What goes around, comes around,' right, Tony?" said the blond man in black body armor, his arms crossing over his chest. When the corner of his mouth curled, Stark glared at him.

"Shut up," he grumbled, shaking his head and striding forward to greet the other guy. Holding out his hand for a shake, he attempted to smooth over his features into something less perturbed. "Nice to meet you...?"

Taking his hand, Peter puffed up his chest a bit, determined to ignore his gaff. After all, though he might not have been a tech wunderkind in his youth, he had made a name for himself out in the galaxy.

"Peter Quill. Star-Lord," he announced, pride in his tone. Stark blinked a bit at the title, ending the handshake a few moments after and making no comment on it. Flapping a hand in the air, Quill tried to further dispel his previous blunder. "I was a kid the last time I saw pictures of you, so...yeah."

Tony looked him up and down, then. "And when was that?"

Peter's brow scrunched back. "Uh, 1988."

"Wow," the tech genius muttered under his breath, glancing back at his fellows and scrubbing a hand over his face. "You've missed out on a lot of stuff back home, Quill."

Peter squared his shoulders a bit, not quite sure how to take Tony's words. Granted, he had a point, but that hardly meant that he was out of touch...which seemed to be the implication the other man was making. Digging into his pocket, he removed the music device he'd had since his Walkman was destroyed a few cycles back.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I'm pretty close to caught up," he stated, almost proudly. Shaking the device between two fingers, he handed it over to Stark when he gestured for it to be given over. As he did, he blinked at the abrupt slide in Tony's expression. Absolute disgust and horror outlined his irises, and his jaw ticked.

"A Zune," the older man breathed, turning it over and actually suppressing a shudder down his spine. "Oh, good Lord."

The blond man beside him rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. "Stark, don't have a coronary."

Plucking the device out of the billionaire's grasp, he handed it back to Quill, who tucked it away and started examining him. Something about the blond guy struck him. His posture, his stance, and the set of his eyes struck him, though he couldn't put a finger on why.

"And you...also look familiar," he said, actually tilting his head and squinting at him. "Were you in movies or something?"

A flood of pink invaded the fellow's ears, and he scratched idly at his beard when he grinned sheepishly.

"Sort of," he muttered, clearing his throat and proffering his hand to Peter. "Steve Rogers."

If the fellow had looked shocked upon learning about Tony, he was utterly gobsmacked when the other man announced his identity. While his friends looked to each other, each with varying levels of confusion on their faces, it was not so for him.

"...Cap...Captain America?" he stammered, his jaw flapping a little like a fish's. His compatriots shared another dubious glance, and he spluttered, "But you're dead!"

That caused the remaining Guardians to actually stare at the other man. Incredulity danced from one to the next, with the bug-looking one appearing nervous and shifting slightly behind the bigger, bald guy. Peter pivoted on his heel, gesturing back to the blond man as he looked to his friends.

"I swear, I'm not joking. He was dead for, like, fifty years."

Rogers shared a glance with the brunet man flanking him on the right, the fellow holding a laugh in his blue irises. The captain waggled a few fingers in the air, brushing the accusation off.

"Technically frozen." Lifting a shoulder, he hooked a thumb at Tony, whose gaze had strayed beyond him to his companions. "Hate to say it, but Stark's right. You did miss out on a few things."

Quill inclined his head, silently agreeing with that assessment. Behind him, he heard a huff puff out.

"You have any idea what a Captain America is?" Rocket groused, barely keeping his tone low. A shuffling step followed.

"No, but perhaps if we smile and nod, they will not notice that we have no idea," Drax responded, and the sandy-haired human looked over his shoulder at him, shooting them both a look that implored them to shut up. Attention had been drawn to them, and the bigger creature merely stretched his lips into a facsimile of a grin. His head bopped up and down, and the furry being standing beside him scratching at his snout.

"Right. Helpful, Drax," he murmured, one paw coming up and scrubbing at his eyes. Quill examined the group who had come out to greet them, all humans to the last. Every one had some level of surprise on the faces, with Stark's the greatest mix of shock and curiosity.

"...The raccoon talked," the older man said, blinking rapidly.

The creature launched forward, barely held back by Drax when he snatched at his arm. Pinned in place, the furry being growled lightly.

"Why do I keep getting called that thing? I'm not a raccoon!"

Stark, who had been openly gaping since the creature began to growl, was jarred out of his reverie when Rogers smacked him in the arm. Grunting in muted pain, he rubbed at the developing soreness, and cleared his throat.

"I'm...sorry?" he squeaked out, not entirely believing that he was actually apologizing to a talking, furry rodent he'd chased out of trash cans before (the base's outdoor dumpsters could be a haven for raccoons, and he'd run them off a couple of times when he'd visited and caught them). He then glanced at the treelike being, who had shaken his head and extended an arm out to his animal-esque compatriot.

"I am Groot," he murmured, the jump of adolescence in his tone catching them all as well. However, any comment that could have been forthcoming was restrained, limited to shortened glances.

"Let's go inside," Thor suggested, gesturing to the nearby door into the palace. "We have much to speak of."

"I believe it," the darker-skinned guy retorted, and the god grinned wanly at him, bidding that he come along and referring to him as "Falcon." The others fell into step behind them, light chatter emitting after a few moments. Allowing his fellow to precede him, Quill caught up to Rogers, grabbing at his elbow and begging him to slow down for a few moments. He had a couple of questions for him personally, and he didn't want the others to overhear. Obliging him, Steve half-grinned at him, silently waiting for him to begin.

"If you're Captain America, why are you younger-looking than him?" he wondered, nodding ahead to Stark. Rogers smirked then, but it fell away after a few moments.

"The super-soldier serum preserved my life, and literally froze me at the age I was when I went under."

Quill's mind filled with the image of a frozen body before him, of a lost mentor and father, and he shuddered.

"Good God," he groaned, frowning at the ground. "Captain America back from the dead, and Tony Stark having aged. I knew Earth would have changed when I was taken, but Jesus, how much?"

The icy blue gaze on him looked off into the distance, and the fellow rolled his shoulders back.

"A lot in some ways, not so much in others," he confessed. Glancing at Peter out the corner of his eye, he continued, "If this ends well, you should come back for a little while, see it for yourself."

The amusement in Quill's eyes faded rapidly at the invitation, a sort of hardness Rogers did not think to associate with him setting into his features.

"I don't think I could do that. Too much time, too many reasons not to," he stated, a broken edge undercutting his pronouncement. Rogers did not flinch upon hearing it, nor did he comment upon it. The lines of his face, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes seemed to indicate that he knew something of the pain he felt, and Peter mused that perhaps he did. After all, if Steve Rogers had awoken years beyond his own time, it was likely all that he had known was gone, too.

"Your choice," the blond man supplied once more. A voice from ahead called his name, and with a final dip of the chin, Rogers moved away from Quill, the fast clip of his boots filling the quiet. Peter slowed in his steps, chewing his lip as he considered the choices. After a few seconds, a clearing throat resounded behind him, and he barely withheld on a jump. Pivoting, he calmed when he saw Mantis there, the true straggler of the group. Likely, she had been marveling at the structure of the new city, of the new planet, as was her wont, and she had just caught up. He managed a grin for her, but her large, dark eyes peered at him, and he felt it slide away.

Despite having lost all that she had known, Mantis had gone with them willingly, all those cycles ago. She had remained aboard the Milano, the peace and lightness she exuded around her calming tempers and soothing ruffled feathers on occasion. That wasn't to say she had not ruffled feathers of her own; her abilities often exposed feelings and emotions of others unnecessarily, and her sense of diplomacy had not improved much in the time away from Ego. However, she was still there, determined to be a part of their work and atone for her mistakes (which Peter privately thought she had already made amends for, in abundance, but he was not able to gainsay her).

Carefully, she approached him, gently taking his free hand in hers, her grasp solid and soft at the same time. A soothing feeling ran through him, and he sighed a little at the contact, a rueful grin curling the corner of his mouth before he cast his gaze to the ground.

"It is your choice, Peter," she intoned softly, a sad smile creasing her lips as she felt the conflicting emotions rush through him. Squeezing his hand lightly, she raised her chin, quiet strength exuded as she proclaimed, "And we'll stand by you when you make it. When this is over."

Another squeeze, and then she dropped the contact, her small smile remaining as she walked away. Watching her go, he took in a deep breath, his body deflating as he considered the possibilities before him. When it was all over...he could make a decision then. At that moment, there were far larger fish to fry, and it wouldn't do lollygag in the corridor.

Following Mantis, he was the last to enter the room at the far end, the heavy wooden door shutting loudly behind him. Yet another gilded room, though it was a lot smaller than he had anticipated. Decorative weaponry adorned the walls, smoking torches lighting the space. A great table dominated the center of the room, a holographic display of both Asgard and Terra projected up from it. The sandy-haired guy was beside Stark, joined by a smaller fellow he affectionately called, "Banner." When the door fully shut, the gathered warriors grouped together, ready to discuss all.

"What's the news out there?" Steve Rogers said, his tone all authority in that moment. The low chattering no longer echoed in the space.

"We passed another overturned settlement," Nebula said, planting her hands firmly on the table's top. The latest destroy outer planetary village had been razed to the ground, the few survivors sharing details of the disaster when she and Thor had chanced to stop at it in the hope of supplies. Grimacing, she reported, "It seems Thanos is still intent on his quest, but he has been delayed somewhat."

"He's been press-ganging many into his ranks, in the meantime," Thor confessed, frowning as he crossed his arms and began to pace along the far edge of the room. "Those without hope or or morals seem to be among his favorites. And...according to some others, he is not alone in his journeys."

Rogers shared a glance with Barnes, and the brunet man cupped a hand in the air.

"Meaning?" he inquired, gesturing for the clarification to come forth. At that, Nebula turned to her surrogate sister, the two of them sharing a loaded look. Clearing her throat, the one called Gamora stepped up to the table.

"Nebula and I were not his...only children. We were the only uncontrollable ones. A few others have been called back to the fold, and they go willingly."

The unpleasant news sat heavily on them, and the blond man dipped his chin in a nod of acknowledgment.

"So he has captains, then," he surmised, answered by Gamora and Nebula's own nods. Spiking an eyebrow, he continued, "Experienced ones, too."

The last statement was by no means a question, but the female Guardian of the Galaxy felt compelled to answer him, anyway.

"Not in the traditional ways, but yes."

"Why hasn't he progressed here? According to several sources, Asgard would be the closer destination for the next stone."

Digesting that information, the green-skinned beauty tapped a thumb along the table's edge, biting her lip briefly. Her dark eyes flashed to her sister, and she cocked her head to the left.

"You don't think...?" she began, trailing off when the blue-skinned cyborg's gaze narrowed in thought.

"Could be. Make sense," Nebula retorted, as vague as her companion was.

The one called Stark arched a brow, tutting under his breath. "Care to clue us in, ladies? You know, with this being a tactical meeting and all."

The two females locked eyes for a moment, silent conversation running between them. Eventually, Gamora's gaze slid back to those waiting for an answer, and Nebula lifted a shoulder. The blue-skinned cyborg crossed her arms, a hip jutting out as she adjusted her stance.

"It's very likely he's looking for the missing stone. While the others will work together without it, if he wants ultimate power, he'll need to find that one, too. It could be his priority for the moment, and why he hasn't come straight here to challenge you all."

Short quiet followed, and then the commander said, "A missing stone?"

Gamora shook out her dark hair, clicking her tongue. "There were rumors he had heard of a sixth stone. One with the power over souls. When it combines with the others, he would have total control over the universe, then. He spoke about it when he first conceived the idea of pursuit years ago. But it has been gone even longer than the other stones."

"Okay, that I can understand being pretty high on the list," the fellow with the quiver upon his back commented, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "Despite it being a rumor."

"For now. Unfortunately, even this far away, other rumors are spreading," Nebula intoned, her clipped voice cutting hard through the air. "That the humans of Earth are amassing a force to rival the rogue element moving across the galaxies. Your intentions have been noted, and it may not be enough for him to put aside."

Quill's eyebrows sprang up, along with the other humans in the room.

"We have been gathering to protect our home, on your word," the auburn-haired girl said, her green irises flickering a dangerous scarlet. Beside her, the redhead's own brow arched as distinct distrust filtered into her irises. Nebula met their gazes unflinchingly, dipping her chin.

"Yes." Not a hint of remorse was in her voice, just calm acceptance. That bothered Peter intensely, as well as the others. Barnes and Stark shared what seemed to be a rare moment of camaraderie, their focus intense and suspicious. The sandy-haired guy shook his head and blew out a breath, while the one called the Falcon muttered unintelligibly. Banner shared a fast, disappointed glance with Thor, but neither said a word. His own companions were silent, but he could guess how they felt as well.

"Have you been planning this?" Rogers demanded softly, the look on his face unyielding. It was a fair question, and a possibility that he himself wouldn't put past Nebula. She was manipulative and devious; if she wished, she could rend and alter all that was around her if it gave her what she wanted in return. Before she could utter a response, though, Gamora stepped up again,speaking over her.

"With all due respect, Captain—"

"Commander," chimed in several voices, none of which were the man in question. Peter blinked at that, and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Rogers shrugged a shoulder, a corner of his mouth raising and an almost bashful look overtaking his features.

"Title change. I'm not actually Captain America, anymore," he pointed out. Hooking his thumb to the left, indicating Bucky, he continued, "That belongs to him, now. So...Commander Rogers."

He cupped a hand in the air, brushing it down before himself to show that it was indeed what he was known as those days. Quill raked a hand back through his sandy locks, shaking his head in mild bafflement.

"I feel like I should be taking notes right now, good Lord," he grumbled to himself.

The raccoon-like creature chose to chime in then. "This is why formality of rank is just stupid."

"You just wish you had a rank of your own to actually claim," countered the one called Drax, his massive arms folding and his lips barely curving. Rocket veritably glared up at him, shaking his head.

"Despite the fact that yours was literally made up by you?" he snapped, but before he could continue or Drax could fire something back, Gamora shot them a deadly glance, silencing them effectively.

"Commander, then," she corrected herself. Bracing her hands on her hips, she looked Steve Rogers squarely in the eye as she expressed, "Whether it was intentional or not for Nebula to do so, you have to agree that forewarned is forearmed. And, whether you like it or not, this trouble would be on all our doorsteps even if she hadn't said something. At least this way, we're all on alert."

Quill snorted derisively at her statement, and she let loose a backhand into his gut, which he coughed against as she straightened and tossed her dark hair.

"I don't have time for petty squabble anymore in this life, and I doubt you do, too," she completed, focusing intently on the commander. The other man linked his hands atop his belt, chewing the inside of his cheek. Beside him, Stark eased into a smirk, inclining his chin at the green-skinned beauty.

"Where was this woman six years ago?" he wondered aloud. "Could've avoided that whole yelling match in the lab when we first formed."

His dark eyes connected with Steve's blue gaze, the blond's seriousness giving way to a spark of humor.

"You're right. We don't. But at this rate, we can't do much more without driving the people here into pandemonium," he told the newcomers and Thor. "Guard rotations are in place, we've got reserves primed and ready for an attack. And from what you're telling us, we already have the most obnoxious beacon out here to summon the enemy. It's up to him now. We'll need to consult with Stephen Strange as soon as possible, make him aware of the situation."

Off the round of befuddled looks, he sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"He's a scientist...and a sorcerer," he admitted, the awkwardness of the truth rolling of his tongue.

"Sorcerer Supreme," Banner and Thor corrected in unison, the others shooting them looks. After sharing a glance with the good doctor beside him, the god shrugged. "A high honor, indeed."

Looks darted between the Guardians, and then to the god's companions. They shot their own looks back, and seemingly, as one, they accepted the title. It was hardly the strangest thing any of them had heard in their lives. Instead, Rogers leaned his hands upon the table, taking authority again.

"If Thanos doesn't attack within another week, we'll begin to make contingency plans and alterations accordingly," he stated, the simplicity of the plan falling upon them all. Quill hooked his thumbs into his own belt, and raised his chin at the commander.

"Sounds good," he proclaimed, his friends chiming in with their own consent after he did.

"Alright, then," Stark agreed, slapping his palms together and rubbing them fast. "We'll resume our tasks as normal...after we get in some grub."

The raccoon-like creature brightened considerably, as did his Destroyer companion.

"Awesome," he grunted, pumping a fist and beginning to nearly hop from foot to foot.

"Come, my friends," Thor said to the Guardians, gesturing for them to heed him and follow. "We shall feast, and then we shall find places for you to integrate yourselves."

The furry being's enthusiasm dimmed then, and he quipped sardonically, "Even better."

"Rocket..." chided Mantis, clicking her tongue before smoothing over her frown. Her large, dark eyes glanced back at Peter, who had not moved from his position. Snapping back to himself, back into the new reality of his life, he let out a slow sigh. Food would definitely be good. Everything else could fall into place after, he mused, his footsteps bouncing back to him as he moved further into the palace of Asgard.

 **xXxXxXx**

Several jumps away, a large silver spacecraft was looming ominously. The tranquil atmosphere of the planet below it was blotted in places, and though it could not be heard from there, there was no doubt that the screams and wails of those trapped still echoed upon its surface. The capital city of Xandar, like Knowhere before it (and so many other outer settlements in recent memory) was burning, the place aflame per the orders of a madman.

Or rather, as he was known in throughout the dregs and slums of the universe, a mad Titan.

The city was not laid to waste, and its citizen were not maimed and mangled, for pure sport, of course. No, indeed; they housed something entirely too valuable to be ignored, and it had been left alone for too long. And so, after a surprise attack and invasion, its prize was taken from its hold, the new bearer leaving its people to rot after destroying all in his path.

Above the central deck of the ship, in a lone chamber, sat the commander, his posture slouched but his presence no less imposing. With an elbow braced along one arm of his chair and his chin propped in his hand, his reddened eyes watched as the creatures in his command scurried below. Some darted from databank to databank, while others looked upon maps and marked points of interest upon the screens. His height and broadness were highlighted by the throne-like chair he occupied, though it itself almost seemed dwarfed in comparison. The helmet he wore into battles was off, placed upon a far table along with the few scattered weapons he employed rarely. He continued to watch for several moments, his focus eventually dropping to the hand braced along the other armrest.

The gauntlet upon his hand held two stones now, the Aether having adapted into a solid form and sitting in its setting. The deep red was now complemented by its purple brother, a lighter shade than his own skin. The Power Stone had been obtained, the Nova Corps left upon the planet's surface unable to hold him or his troops back when he had come for it. It had been long overdue, he knew that all too well, but within the search for the stones was a deeper goal.

Through deceit, bribery, and outright menace, Thanos had been gifted with the knowledge of the other stones after many years of effort. Of course, it was not difficult to place two of them; one, he had foolishly allowed the Asgardian in his charge take control of, in the hopes that he would have the other in his care before long. That one, he had been told, remained where he had lost it. It was on Terra, and it had a new bearer, though the word was uncertain whether it would be friend or foe to him. Likely foe, and that was what he was prepared for.

The second was most galling to learn of: the impish god had failed in his task, and his brother had absconded with him and the Tesseract, back to their home. There it remained, deep in the vaults of the Asgardian king. The true prince—not the puling weakling that had failed him, but the elder, who was said to be stronger than he—was guardian of it in his absence, as rumors had placed Odin as either missing or dead. Perhaps he was both; any of those options would serve Thanos well in the long run.

The Power Stone was only difficult in that he knew he would have to evade the Nova Corps for a time, until the defenses of their stronghold were at their weakest. It had taken several cycles, but they finally left it at its lowest security, and so he struck. The hardness and swiftness had left them all reeling, the vault opened to him in a bid for mercy.

Naturally, that mercy was not given, and in his mind, it was not deserved, anyway. The true corps would have fought him to the last being; those who left lost their noblest leaders within minutes, and the desperate bid they made did not impress him as much. The stone was placed in the gauntlet, and he left them to ruin, a fate he'd gifted to many other settlements who dared oppose him.

However, it had been merely the next stop in his journey, as Thanos had turned his attention to the stone that had yet to be uncovered in some way: the Soul Stone. As the final of the set, he craved it above all others, knowing that with it, he would have control and power over all of the universe. Without it, he would never be at full strength, and he could not allow that. For too long, he had been denied that strength, that privilege, and he could no longer stomach it. Every lead on the path, every rumor of where it could be, pulled him to it. Still, the trail to it had come to naught, the coldness of it turning icy the longer he pursued it. But he needed it dearly, and could not give up. Not with so much at stake now.

It would be his universe, and he would shape it to his will. And those who denied him, who stood in his way and derided him for being a fool—and at worst, for being an outcast among his own people, his evils too much for his father and mother to bear—would fall before him, burning before he erased them from their worlds. It would please him greatly, indeed.

Perhaps it would please others, as well. Perhaps.

Coming back out of his thoughts, he half-turned his head toward the opened panels, to the creature standing there and waiting for his acknowledgment. Thanos knew he had been at attention for some time, hoping to have a word with him, but he was not inclined to give it before considering the course in his mind. Inhaling deeply, he could almost smell the undercurrent of fear in the officer, the plating of his armor shifting with him as he faced the creature. He was one of Ronan's ilk, a younger one who was more malleable...and had the appropriate level of terror instilled in him to follow orders unquestioningly.

"Say your piece," he demanded, his voice no louder than a murmur. However, the gruffness and danger layered within did their work, the deepness of it still affecting the fellow. The other creature swallowed hard, but to his credit, he maintained his posture.

"Sir, we wished to know which point you would like to pursue next," he replied, approaching the side of Thanos' throne carefully and brandishing a tablet. Quadrants and settlements were raised up holographically from it, the ship's current position recorded and the others of the fleet dotting nearby as well. It had been a typical set-up for a long while, wherein the search for the elusive stone had taken priority. However, as he scanned the map, Thanos felt resolve harden in him. The Soul Stone had remained out of sight and out of his grasp for far too long. It made no sense to continue looking for it at the present moment. Not when he knew where a good number of the others were. It would be better to shore up his defense with the others first, and once he finally had it, he could resume pursuit of his ultimate goal.

Even if he did not have full power, he would have more than a great number of beings in the universe, and that would be a start.

"Alter course. Make the first jump past Quadrant 14-L," he stated, his free hand sliding into the display on the tablet and pushing to the jump-point. It would take several jumps, but the destination he had in mind first was much closer than the other he was considering. Besides, he inwardly surmised, the Asgardians were supposedly quite broken after repeated attacks over the last few cycles. Invading there would be simple, and for the moment, he longed for simplicity. Looking at the young officer, he grunted, "We will resume this particular search later. We're expected elsewhere. Alert the other ships to follow."

His red eyes narrowed pointedly, indicating exactly which ships were to follow. Though he had bullied and threatened many into his crews, it did not mean he trusted them to obey indefinitely. However, he knew that with the right leaders under his control, who knew his will and would oblige him in following it, it wouldn't take more than that to keep the others in check. It was, after all, why he had gathered his children to him.

Pity not all were tractable, he mused darkly, flashes of green and blue-skinned beauties filtering into his mind before he shook his head. The two were unmitigated failures; his other children would be far better suited to the work he put toward them.

"Yes, sir," the soldier spouted quietly, bowing his head and pivoting on his heel. The airlock door snapped into place behind him, and Thanos rose from his seat, marching up to the clear shield before him. At once, the deck of the central command sprang into new life, the creatures below scurrying at an increased pace to ready the ship. They all could feel the eyes of the commander on them, and it would not do to disappoint him.

Thanos allowed himself the smallest of grins. Yes, to Asgard first, he asserted silently, the plated fingers of his gauntleted hand tapping along his thigh. It would be simple, and he honestly relished the opportunity upon the horizon.

 **xXxXxXx**

In the observatory, Heimdall looked out, the lone sentry at his post at that hour. The night had come upon the world, the darkness broken by the torches upon the wall. The flickering glow enveloped him, his bright armor softened as the hours stretched before him. As ever, his far-seeing eyes were turned out past his home, past the world he knew and loved so dearly. For thousands of years, he'd been the one, the warrior poised to alert the others to ready the defenses, to go to the aid of those of the Nine Realms. And when he looked beyond, he could sense what could be headed their way.

A stray breeze flushed into the wide, open space, stirring the flickering flames of the torches, and coolness touched at the bare skin of his neck. Blinking tiredly, he knew he would soon need a rest. A rest and a meal, and then he would be back at his post, ready to report to his prince. Having been the first to spot the returning craft and its companion, he was pleased to find that his old friend was well, as were those who traveled with him. Fondness for Thor flooded through him, his happiness at his friend's return lightening his heart for the briefest of moments. However, that fondness suddenly froze when he turned his head, a sharpness piercing his mind and making him shudder in pain.

Blinking rapidly, he strained his gaze out beyond the realm, looking for something. Though it could not be made out clearly, he could see the shape of a silver craft, two parallel pieces joined in the center. It did not seem imposing at first, but once it came further into view, he could see how wide and tall it really was, the vastness of it dwarfing a good number of crafts he'd witnessed in his lifetime. Several other ships trailed behind in, varying in shape and size, all of them eclipsed in the main ship's glory.

And all over the convoy, drenched in darkness and wreathed in sorrow, was a presence. A presence of power, and of horror. Inhaling deeply, he forced himself upright, shudders wracking him as he realized what he was looking upon.

The threat they had been preparing for, that the Midgardians had come to aid them against, was there.

"He is coming," he murmured, at once sheathing his sword and racing from the observatory, telling all guarding the bridge to remain alert as he passed. The time for battle was upon them, and he had to warn the others who would stand to be ready.

And deep in the heart of the palace, in the small room designated to his use, Loki shivered, a chill crawling up his spine that he could not place or name for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

 **A/N:** Getting ever-closer to the action now!

I know, this was a lot more discussion and plans, but eh, a lot of that tends to happen before armies meet in war. Thanos is officially on his way, the Guardians have joined up with the Avengers...oh, this will be fun.

Almost late with this chapter, since a lot of my spare writing time was spent filling out applications and emails to potential employers. I'm looking into getting another job, so keep your fingers crossed for me!

No Holly or Grant in this chapter, but they will be returning soon.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Zune, Hasselhoff, Stamos, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	9. Chapter 9

The looming, chrome craft completed the final jump, the golden light of the star at the center of the space distant. What was nearer, awaiting them, was a tipped planet, swirls of blue broken by vast crags of brown and green. Those upon the deck had heard that Terra looked similar to this planet, but lacked the abilities its people had. Asgard was a legend even in the galaxy, and those aboard the ship had not had the chance to see it in its glory.

Not until that day.

The Kree captain demanded that the crew halt the ship, that he would fetch orders from the commander himself. As the remaining ships of the fleet continued to filter through the jump they'd exited, he left the crew to its devices, establishing connections and allowing him the chance to go.

The commander was not in his quarters, nor was he in his observation room on the upper levels. Instead, he was in one of the labs in the back, one of which had been repurposed as a sort of cell. One of the commander's discoveries had demanded the space for it, and the Titan felt inclined to indulge. No one on the crew even considered objecting, though the quirks of the commander disturbed them as ever. The Kree captain bit his lip as he walked through the ship, nodding every so often to other passing officers. He himself would not have let himself be pushed into the position, were it not for the safety of his own clan.

Nobody there could really claim a full belief in what the commander was doing, but there was a promise of power, of future expansion...of revenge against the enemies they knew of. Thanos was powerful, strong, and fearsome all on his own; to follow him was to see that power actualized. And after Ronan abysmal failure cycles ago, there was no real choice in the matter who to follow.

Rounding a final corner, he did find the commander where he'd been reported to be. Half of the long wall facing in on the laboratory was replaced with duriglass, a new compound that was stronger than sheer glass and just as clear. The space was in disarray, the tables overturned yet again and food splattered along the far wall. At the center was the subject, angry strides taking him from one end to the next. The rage he emitted nearly hourly was disconcerting, but the Titan was unfazed. Indeed, Thanos was the only one who seemed to be able to talk any sense into the creature, but that sense did not last once he exited. Clearing his throat, the Kree captain interrupted the commander contemplations, waiting until a hand waving permission to approach brought him out of it. Reporting their arrival at Asgard, the captain paused as the commander only nodded, his eyes turning back to the chamber before him. It was several long seconds before the captain found the courage to interrupt again, and he was mentally sighing in relief when the Titan did no more than blink at him.

"Orders, sir?" he asked quietly, body stiff and at attention. Thanos lifted his chin, letting a slow breath out of his nose as he contemplated the options before him. Making a decision, and he turned and faced the captain.

"Keep the fleet on standby," the Titan commanded, an unsettling smirk gracing his lips. Cutting his red gaze away from the cell, he squared his shoulders, his immense height and size seeming to double in that instant. "We go in alone."

The Kree officer nodded, bowing his head and stepping back. "Yes, sir."

Casting a final glance at the cell, the distance shouts and screams within greeting his ears, he could not suppress the smile. The specimen was interesting, to be sure, but he would have to wait until later. The stones, as ever, were first in his mind, and he could not waste time on other projects for the moment.

 **xXxXxXx**

The vigilant band upon the refracting bridge watched as the sun rose, the glinting light catching the brilliance of the repaired buildings. Beyond, just passed the mountains and the vast falls, a speck of gleaming metal appeared. The warriors posted there seemed to still upon sighting it, the commanding officers behind them sharing glances. The sharper details emerged as it came closer, chrome and bright metal flowing seamlessly on its surface. Pinpricks of dots, likely cannon towers, marred it, and it was likely the middle, adjoining piece was the bridge of it. It had barely slowed in its descent, and they all waited on tenterhooks for it to strike.

Ever since the previous night, when Heimdall had stormed into the palace and announced the imminent arrival of the threat they'd been waiting for, they been frantically preparing the city for attack. The drills and shifts they'd undertaken since their arrival had readied them, but the thought of another battle so soon after the destruction that had come before had them all on edge. However, they were still there, weapons and armor at the ready for the impending attack.

Briefly, Steve Rogers laid his free palm over the star at the center of his chest, the medallion hidden beneath pressed slightly into the compression shirt he wore. Out the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his friends down the line. Barton, Stark, Sam, and Bucky had joined Thor and him on the bridge, the others at different posts within the city. Each had a battalion at their command, each had a host of Asgardian working with them. The Iron Man suit gleamed in the light, Bucky's vibranium shield polished and almost glowing. Thor's hammer twisted in his grasp, and behind him Heimdall glinted gold from head to toe. They were ready. After a second or two, his fingers went up, tapping at the comm link in his ear and turning it on.

"Whatever comes out of that ship, stand firm," he intoned over the line, inhaling deeply. The chest of his Kevlar-titanium weaved arms strained as he took in the breath, his fist tightening beneath the magnetically-bonded shield upon his arm.

"Yes, sir," Bucky replied before turning on his heel, the typical irreverence that could be found there erased entirely. Similar responses rebounded in his ear, his teammates going to their positions and prepping for the incoming fight. He let out a slow breath, tapping at the piece in his ear and switching the channel over to those who would be in the air. As the wide, H-shaped ship came closer, he grimaced.

"Circle, but do not engage after the first wave," he instructed over the link, blinking and letting a slow breath out of his nose. Nerves were beginning to jump up, the itch to fight and get it over with battling the deep patience within him. A click came then, and he heard the first affirmative on the other end. It was female, rich and strong; Valkyrie, an ally Thor had obtained during the last assault on Asgard, was mounted with her forces, ready to comply when the command came. The second voice was deeper, stronger, and he let his shoulders roll back a little at it.

"Okay," Peter Quill said, whirs and hums following his words as his ship cycled through its motions.

A scoff echoed then, and he caught a certain raccoon-like creature's grumbling. "You're takin' orders from him."

"He used to be Captain America," Quill retorted, and Steve shook his head to himself at that. Glancing up to where the _Milano_ (a new reference that he did not understand until Stark explained it to him much later; when he finally knew, he'd chuckled a bit, not blaming the fellow in the least about naming his ship after a pretty actress) was hovering over the vast waters of the lake. Another snort resounded, and Peter murmured, "I'm not exactly gonna go against his word. Still, we got a little wiggle room."

Clicking his tongue at that, the commander could practically hear the man called Star-Lord freeze in his seat.

"...Your comm's still on, Quill," he said, a bubble of humor growing and dying in his chest. Exhaling sharply, he glanced over to where the ship had coasted and tightened his stance. "Try not to wiggle just yet."

A giggle reverberated from Valkyrie's line, and Quill hastily reassured him that he would hold off for as long as he could. Clearing his throat, Steve glanced at Thor, dipping his chin and striding up past the line. Asgardian officers acknowledged the prince and the commander, their friends interspersed nodding as well. A chill ran down his spine at the faith, weak though it seemed at times, in the leadership he was providing.

"Nebula, we do this together, or not at all," he managed to catch Gamora's whisper, her hand around her sister's elbow. Instead of taking her place in the ship with Quill, she'd chosen to stay on the ground, wishing to bring the fight to those who opposed them swiftly. Surprisingly, the bug-like female, Mantis, had also elected to remain on the ground, expressing the desire to utilize her combat skills (that had led to a hushed discussion between her and the one called Drax, with her ultimately being the victor and the veiny fellow stomping away with a miserable look on his face). Beside her, the cyborg female stiffened, and she shook her head.

"You can't stop me, Gamora."

The green-skinned beauty raised her chin, and pronounced, "Maybe not, but you shouldn't face him alone. He made us...let's break him."

No verbal answer came, but when he glanced over his shoulder at the two females, he could see the righteous smirk decorating the blue one's lips. He kept his own face blank, reaching the end of the line and his icy gaze focusing on the ship again. It had halted in its journey, hovering at some distance from the bridge. Deep breaths were taken, the calm before the storm surrounding them.

After a few minutes, the ship seemed to shift, and what appeared to be pods were ejected from it. They seemed to resemble eyeballs almost, save for the clearly mounted laser cannons and the size of them bespeaking of more than a single occupant. There was no doubt what they carried and what the plan was: the grounded warriors were about to be engaged by the army drum up by the enemy.

"Warriors of Asgard, stand ready!" Thor commanded, the armored guardians at attention at once. Various blasters and such were raised, eyes zeroing in on the approaching pods. It was then that the pods utilized their gunpower, opening upon those on the bridge and blanketing them with lasers. Ducking fast behind his shield and crouching, Steve shouted for Thor to execute the reveal. The command went down the line, key warriors darted backward from their compatriots and into the rebuilt arches of the bridge. Draperies cloaking the high points of the bridge were dropped, revealing the cannons that had been assembled atop them. Cries came within moments that all were at the ready, and Rogers inclined his chin at his friend.

The prince of Asgard raised his voice, raised his hammer, and upon the crackling of lightning and the roar of thunder, hollered, "Fire!"

Every single tower seemed to light up then, lasers catching the swarm of pods. Several fell from the sky, the rain of fire costing the enemy much in the process.

"Engage, engage!" Rogers cried down the line, bracing behind his shield once more as another rain of twisted metal parts splattered around him. At once, his compatriots braced themselves, Stark choosing that moment to pulse into the air and wind up for an assault of his own.

"Got it," Quill crowed over the comms, clicks and a loud whoop following. "Here we go!"

"Chase 'em out!" Rocket hollered back, and the _Milano_ swept forward then, weaving between the remaining pods and firing off shots as they went. Valkyrie roared as well, her battalion sweeping in behind as they went. The pods making for the bridge hovered at the edges, undeterred by the spitting fires of the cannons and such. Instead, mechanical arms sprang loose from the sides, reaching out and bolting into the bridge surface. Hatches opened, and warriors poured out of them, Kree (as he later learned they were called) with Chitauri and several unidentifiable species intermixed. They swarmed upon the grounded fighters like locusts, surrounding them nearly on all sides. With his shield up, Steve launched into an attack, Thor cover his back and vice versa as the battle raged on.

Turning on his heel, he barely caught the swatch of purple and gold pushing by, but his attention was caught by a pair of Chitauri screaming and pointing one of their laser staffs at him, and he could only think about that.

Pressing the button on the inside of the shield, he braced his other forearm along it, the shield separating into two, deadly-edged halves. Deflecting the shots taken at him, he launched into a jump, one arms swing after the other and cleaving into his attackers. Repulsors rocketed through the air as Stark rose with his suit, a distant roar echoing from within the city. Steve moved, the fluidity of his movement coming back to him after his time away. It was difficult there, but they could hold, he thought to himself as he plowed his foot into the face of another Chitauri. With any luck, that would be the worst of it.

 **xXxXxXx**

It was not better inside the palace as the battle wore on. As the vaults below held the prize Thanos sought, a contingent of warriors were spread out along the halls. Several of them had bolted themselves inside the vault, the last group in case the others were destroyed in the battle. Kree and Chitauri forces were swarming up to the building, intent on clearing the way for their commander.

Sif, Clint, and the Warriors Three each had levels of their own to contend with, the comms brought from Earth and replicated in the smithies of Asgard (aided by Stark, naturally) kept them all connected as the palace began to be overrun. Deep within the confines of the walls were two others. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff took up defense in a very specific part of the palace. In the halls beyond Loki's chambers, they waited, every call-out causing them to share glances. Stray soldiers crossed their paths, but they were easily dealt with. They were the last defense against Loki himself, should he escape.

However, they were counting on his sudden screaming ripping through the palace corridors.

With the total, full assault happening outside, it was no surprise to them that the enlisted warriors Thanos had acquired would reach them at some point. They just hadn't anticipated them blowing out the window of the chamber. Bursting in, the Scarlet Witch and the Black Widow swiftly assessed the situation. A contingent of soldiers were pouring in, ringing Loki. Glass riddled the floor, the grand furniture over turned and broken as the god was surrounded. Their garbled tongue made no sense to either woman, but the paling of the god's face told them that he had been recognized. If they could not obtain the Tesseract, he could make a very nice consolation prize.

After all, he had cost it and the scepter their master had lent him all those cycles ago. He might enjoy flaying him, if nothing else.

Understanding that much, the two women shared a silent look before springing into action. Widow's bites were shot out, hex balls following quickly after. With the attention drawn onto them, the pair went to work, Natasha spinning and kicking her way through a portion of the crowd, repossessing weapons and turning them on the attackers. Wanda, bending and twisting her fingers, caught those who came at her in blasts, the streams of her powers pouring into them and destroying them from the inside out.

Loki, too, was no slouch in defense. Deprived of his abilities as he was, he had been trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat since he came to the age of reason, and had confiscated whatever weaponry he could to defend himself. A spear was his favored weapon, taken from the hands of a fallen Kree and driven into more than one enemy who did not think to watch for it.

Underneath the apparent surprise, a marked level of annoyance filled Loki's face after a time. Throwing down the spear he'd been using to defend himself for several minutes, he turned to the female Avengers before him.

"Agent Romanoff, tell you witch friend to get these infernal shackles off me," he said, holding up his wrists and glancing down at his ankles. The runed bands glowed every few seconds, the abilities within him stymied as they kept him in check. The redheaded beauty opened her mouth, but was cut off by the resurgence of tramping feet in the corridor. Another battalion was on them, and all three moved into defensive positions.

The witch, as he put it, shot him a harsh glare as she began to draw on her power, floating through the air and slamming a wall of scarlet energy into the first wave of soldiers coming for them. Those that slipped went after the shackled god and the Black Widow, each of them moving fluidly and landing blows as they went. Loki shot Natasha a desperate look as his elbow drove down into a Chitauri guard, and she rolled her eyes as she swiveled around another and dropped him to the floor.

"Little busy right now. And you didn't say the magic word," she retorted, executing a front hand spring and kicking at the throat of a Kree defender.

"I can help," he replied, ducking as a shot peppered the wall just over his head. Rolling, he grabbed his abandoned spear and drove it upward into another attacker. "Well, more than I already am."

The Scarlet Witch grunted loudly, her hexes morphing and turning into bolts that pierced the remaining soldiers and striking them down. She eyed up the trickster when she finished, her irises returning to the shade of green they normally were. Loki's actions on Earth weren't exactly a secret; in a way, he was the reason she was who she was. What had shocked her was the depth of the betrayal, what he'd done to his home and his family, adoptive though they were, before the battle in New York. And he'd hardly strayed from the path, as far as she knew.

"Help us to our deaths?" she scoffed, shaking her head and cutting a hand through the air. "Sure, let me just take those off, then."

Her sarcasm made him scowl, and the dark-haired god began to stride over to her.

"Please!" he said, his teeth grinding upon the word. His gaze darted back to Natasha, appeasement on his features. "You cannot be so stubborn as to refuse all of my aid when it is needed."

The distant sound of feet tromping against floor was filtering to them again, and the three glanced toward the end of the hall. Beyond the fallen, shadows of reinforcements danced along the timbers, and it was simple to conclude that the next wave would be upon them soon.

Looking back at her, Loki saw the briefest flicker of something cross over the woman's irises, but she merely cocked an eyebrow.

"I better not regret this," she grunted low, flicking her gaze to Wanda. The auburn-haired woman's jaw stiffened, and she shot back a questioning look of her own. Natasha's eyebrow rose higher, and the reticence in her form remained strong. Casting another glance at the shadows coming their way, Wanda let out a low sigh. Concentrating, her green eyes went scarlet, her hands extending toward the god. The streams of energy pour out of her fingertips, similar to what she'd seen the enchanters of Asgard had done to reinforce the shackles' bindings over the last few days. The opposing magic bit back at her, and she visibly winced, her eyes screwing shut and a small growl crawling out of her throat as she pushed back. Within moments, the struggle was over; the runed bands fell to the floor, and Loki was released.

Rubbing at his wrists, the god shot them a look of relief.

"I don't think you will," he told Natasha, just as the bodies belonging to the shadows formed. Turning his focus onto them, Loki's eyes narrowed as he stepped out into the hall.. Armor sprang into place along his body, his tunic and breeches encompassed by the plate and the cape now flowing from his shoulders. The ever-favored horned helmet appeared on his head, and he withdrew two daggers from sheathes upon his hips. Green energy seemed to crackle and lace his arms, and he launched an attack on the Kree and Chitauri unfortunate enough to heed their fallen comrades' calls. The air turned icy around them, frosting blasts accompanied by the green bolts of energy he drew upon. His daggers managed to cut down what his magic could not. The one or two that managed to evade the god's attacks were dealt with, Wanda and Natasha felling them with little difficulty.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" the dark-haired god muttered, a small grin on his lips as he looked upon the fallen surrounding them. The women glanced at each other once more, though Romanoff's widened suddenly. Sickeningly, it morphed into a sneer, and with lightning-fast speed, he launched a frosty blast into Natasha's torso. She blew backward, smacking into a far wall and rolling onto the floor, knocked out cold.

"Natasha!" Wanda shrieked, barely raising her own hex shields in time before Loki fanned a green blast of energy out at her. They stayed in place, hovering safely around her as she dashed to the slumped body of her teammate. Her scarlet eyes pierced the trickster, but he merely spiked an eyebrow at her before clicking his tongue. In a trice, he was tearing off down the long hall, taking advantage of the quiet to make a bid for freedom. Enraged, Maximoff took two steps forward to pursue him, but was stopped by a hand clenching around her ankle.

"Let him go," the Black Widow breathed, shifting up and wincing at the tremors of pain ripping through her as the remains of frost fell from her person. A mark cut across her brow, and her mouth was bleeding, but she bore no worse signs of wear. Maximoff, however, stared at her still. Not for her injuries, but for her quiet command.

"Nat?" Wanda asked, an eyebrow spiking at her teammate. The redhead sat up fully then, swiping at the blood at the corner of her mouth. Instead of looking furious, she looked almost...pleased. As if she had planned on the betrayal.

Understanding that, the Scarlet Witch blinked, shaking her head at the very idea. Spotting it, Natasha gripped her ankle harder, punctuating the point.

"Trust me," she pleaded in a whisper, shooting her a discreet wink as she hauled herself up off the floor. Maximoff exhaled sharply, steadying her as she rose to her feet.

The comms in their ears crackled to life, Bucky and Clint both calling out for aid within the city, and the two women shared one more glance before rushing to answer it. The matter with Loki would be dealt with later. After the citizens of Asgard were safe again.

 **xXxXxXx**

As the battle raged on outside, the God of Mischief smirked to himself. He hardly believed that the Black Widow had freed based on his pleas; she understood all too well the depths he would go to for freedom, and begging was not one of them. However, she had done it, convinced her companion to let him go, and vindication was his. Ever since her mockery of him years ago, her own sleight of hand that had nearly cost him his plans upon Earth, he'd so desired seeing her put in her place.

It was the least she deserved. It was the least they all deserved truly. Especially Thor. His brother, once again, had chosen Migardians and lesser fools for his companions, as no true heir of Asgard should. He was held hostage upon their insistence, and the Lady Sif had consented wholeheartedly as well. They all had been against him.

It did not matter, then, that he had taken the rule of Asgard in his brother's place, stabilizing the people and fortifying the city—even if he had been posing as Odin. It did not matter that he too had been abducted months ago, and held at the insistence of barbarians on a distant world. And, evidently, it did not matter that he had fought at his brother's side once again, Thor counting on him to hep protect their home from Hela. When the dust had settled, and all was right with the world again, he was merely Loki once more, with nothing to his name and no credit in his word.

His deeds, apparently, meant little. As always.

A sneer turned his lips as he turned down a far hall, avoiding the crashing and crows of those still fighting. If he was meant to be on his own, then so be it. He would do so. Once he was free, he would gather his strength, gather credit elsewhere in the galaxy, and once Asgard ceased to burn, he would reclaim the throne. For good.

If the bridges were well and truly burned, then, he saw no point in resurrecting them. Better that he do as expected, rather than break the mold he was put into.

His ringing boots steps echoed in the halls, taking him down the flights of stairs toward the back. A secreted door in the wall three floors below would bring him out of the palace, out onto the avenue that led to a secret bolt hole that he'd been stashing goods away into for months. Once he gathered all he needed, he would lay low until the rest of the Avengers were hidden or dead. Whatever craft remained, he would take it, and leave Asgard behind until he could take it again. Unfortunately for him, he would not even get that far.

Rapid footsteps careened into the hall he was in, Kree and Chitauri warriors spotting him and dashing toward him. Halting, Loki grounded his back foot, bending his knees and taking a defensive stance. However, he was taken aback by the fact that they merely ringed him, their weapons kept up and aimed at the ceiling. His brow furrowed in confusion, until thundering footsteps interrupted that thought. A wave of dread flushed through him then, the enchantments on him melting away. Left in his dark green and black robes, the God of Mischief held his stance as he looked up at his newest captor.

Deep purple weave met with gold and bronze filaments, the edges lining the arms and the legs. The boots were sturdy and thick, wrapped around and up to the knee. Hands were encased in golden gauntlets, though only one sported stones. The purple and red of them gleamed in the light of the palace, before the arms crossed and they were hidden from view. Red eyes set in a harsh, square face glared down at him, craggy lips quirked into a mocking smirk. Thanos had arrived, and had found him.

"Ah, my lord Loki," the Titan mocked him, and it took all the god had to suppress the grind of his teeth. Instead, he inclined his head, showing him the respect he never felt for the creature.

"Thanos."

Thumping steps came, and the heavily-booted feet came into view, Loki not daring to move out of his position. Then, they moved around, the Titan circling him. He could feel the bore of red, furious eyes digging into him, and he forced himself to remain still, all the etiquette training he'd endured as a supposed prince coming back to him then. A show of obeisance was never lost on Thanos, which he had learned right away when he first went to him.

"I have been seeking you out for a long time," the creature confessed, the evenness of his tone fading into something far more sinister. "I believe punishment is in order for your failure."

The dark-haired god felt a tremor in his chest and stomach, the latent fear brought on by the creature remaining after all that time. Discreetly, he swallowed, but he knew well to keep his countenance schooled and his posture nonthreatening.

"If you must," he responded softly. A spark fluttered over his features, his dwindling escape plan replaced with something new. "But first, allow me to redeem myself."

As he suspected, that caught Thanos' attention, the Titan pausing in his circling briefly. Coming around to face him once more, the creature glowered at him, the distrust evident in his irises.

Loki could not help but think he should join the queue of those who looked at him thusly.

"...You know my price," he said after several long moments, the battle beyond the walls and even within them seemingly distant. Loki dipped his chin.

"I can give you that," he veritably purred, hands folding behind his back. "I know the ins and outs of this palace, and I know what you seek."

Thanos glared at him then, hands going upon his hips and enlarging him even further.

"You will give it to me, then? Betray your Asgardian brethren once again?" he pointed out, poking holes in the offer as it was made. Chagrined and irritated, Loki averted his gaze, barely withholding the insults on the tip of his tongue as the Titan proclaimed, "A tempting offer, but how can one trust a trickster god? And a failure of one at that."

For a long moment, Loki let the silence between them settle, the careful clinks of weapons against armor reminding him of the precarious line he was treading. Breathing deeply to calm his infuriated heart, he forced his expression to remain flat, and he looked up into the face of the monstrosity that, too, had abandoned him.

"Perhaps you cannot trust me," he conceded, taking a small step to the side. Knowing he was being watched carefully, he let his placidity give way to his deep hatred and fury. Picking his words, he ground out, "Trust instead my loathing for this place and for these people. They are nothing to me, and neither are their ilk. They, and the humans they ally themselves with, should be brought to heel."

The Titan's eyes narrowed, his jaw stiffening as he pondered the explanation. The god demonstrated purity in them; he was genuinely upset with his treatment, and carried the weight of it in his eyes and his body. But how genuine was it? Thanos knew better than to trust in any displays of the trickster, the mischief he wrought remembered all too well. He'd promised to retrieve what he viewed was rightfully his, if he helped him achieve dominance over something he could claim. As he'd pronounced before, he had failed. It would be likely he would fail again.

But there was the risk of not finding the Tesseract in time. The so-called warriors outside had found a way to bring the humans who had fought back before. The Other had stated that challenging them would equate to a form of suicide. Despite not truly believing they would stand much of a chance against him alone, he knew better than to take that risk. Not when he still sought the Infinity Stones.

Loki would be his guide, and the god knew that he could do no less than give him what he desired. There was too much at stake.

"The Tesseract. Nothing less," he said, his terms clear and concise. At once, the robed god nodded, a final obeisance made to him.

"Yes."

The agreement made, the Titan let the trickster precede him down the corridors of the palace. With him facing away, he missed the daring smile the dark-haired fellow sported for a few moments, the plan in his mind fully formulating in that instance. And when he brought them to the vault, overriding the security mechanisms and unleashing Hel upon those waiting inside, he could not be troubled terribly over it.

It was for the greater good that the warriors were sacrificed. Perhaps even Thor would know that, one day, he thought to himself as the Titan strode to the pedestal at the end of the room, the encased Tesseract within his grasp.

 **xXxXxXx**

Another laser blast reflected off the shield held before him, rebounding back into the attacker and felling him. Palming the disc, he let it fly, the shield bouncing off three enemies and toppling them like bowling pins before returning. The new Captain America, Bucky Barnes could not afford the chance to cheer his luck, as yet another Chitauri warrior had stepped into the place of his fallen comrades. Tightening his stance, he executed a leap and a kick, knocking the creature down long enough to rap the shield's edge into its neck.

It had felt like hours since the first wave had descended upon the city, yet it did not feel as though much progress had been made. More and more seemed to be coming out of the woodwork, and Barnes was unsure how long they could keep meeting them. Taking stock of his surrounding, he swallowed, darting through the mess and the haze to find his compatriots. It wasn't as difficult as it was beforehand; he could thread between the fallen rather easily at that point. Luckily, none of them were too far off, and he got to them in time to disrupt the ring of soldiers attempting to pin them down again. Barton was sporting a hell of a shiner and several cuts along his arms, but he was still standing. Thor was entrapped in a circle with him, the creature called Mantis gripping onto an opponent long enough to render it inert. A second circle consisted of Steve, Gamora, and Nebula, the sisters each engaging in one half of his split shield and ricocheting shots off of it into the enemy. Heimdall was dispatching of another group on his own, the last of which skewered by his sword.

Ducking in between the circles, the Captain helped them slowly dispatch the last of those surrounding them, the injured or fallen soon enough littering the ground with the rest of their brethren. Everyone, it seemed, was fatigued, each one sporting injuries of some sort. He had a cut along his jaw that he knew would need to be looked at later, but he could not pay it any mind.

There were other things to worry about.

"Steve, I don't think we can hold them off for much longer," Bucky reported, a grimness lining his gaze as he swept it over the remaining fighters on the bridge. "Too many parts of the bridge and the city are weak."

Rogers frowned as he looked around. It was true, though he didn't like to admit it. The pod-like ships that were still in the air had done the damage their landed comrades could not. Supports for the rebuilt bridge were torn up, peppered with holes in some places, and nearly obliterated in others. Any repairs on the sweeping buildings that were exposed due to their height were set back. And more than that, the dwindling number of the Asgardian warriors made him fearful as well. Not for himself, no; he had teammates still alive to help cover his back, if needed. He was afraid for the remaining people of the city, those who could not defend themselves for long. Though many had seized the chance to utilize the labyrinthine escape tunnel built eons ago, not all had fled. They were the ones he worried for.

If things kept going the way they were, the civilians left would be overrun all too soon.

"We keep this up, everything falls apart. Literally," Clint stated then, mirroring his thoughts. The older man instinctively rolled to avoid a stray shot that came then, stringing up three arrows on his bow and letting them loose when he rolled onto his knees. They were specially-fitted ones, the smiths placing runes upon them to not only spit fire, but coat ice afterward to freeze enemies from the inside out. A Kree and two Chitauri were unlucky enough to lead the newest wave of attackers. Bracing himself, Steve bit his lip briefly, a hasty plan formed.

"Time to split," he announced, watching as the next wave gathered speed. "Bucky and Clint, take your squadrons out. Thor and I will cover your backs, while Gamora, Nebula, and Mantis follow you directly. Get into the city and get those exposed to safety. Sif and the Warriors Three will assist."

Barton and Barnes shared a glance, each about to protest, when a loud crackle pierced their ears over the comm line.

"Oh, Jesus..." came a croaking voice. Palming his ear, Steve deftly ducked and slid behind an overturned cannon shield, the others swiftly finding cover as laser shots peppered the air again.

"What, Peter?" The last he'd seen of the ship the fellow was piloting, he was making it climb over the mountains, determined to make some of the pods bank into it and destroy them that way. That was awhile ago, though, and the skies had seemed clear since.

"We overshot and left the atmosphere," the other man explained, total shock and dread in his voice. "He's brought the whole fleet with him. Like, a freakin' armada."

The whole fleet, and unlike last time, there was no bomb that could be exploited, no portal that could be shut down.

"Get out of there, now," Rogers hollered back, raising his shield up in time with Bucky, the pair's vibranium protectors pushing the volley away. Angling them every so often, the shields reflected the shots back, piercing those firing at them. The hail of fire ended after a few moments, but yet another cry came over the line.

"Oh, fu—!" Peter's distressed voice was cut off by a screech, the line suddenly going dead. A distant drone cut through the air, and heads turned to spot where the noise was coming from. The Milano was diving through the sky then, jerking on and off as a set of triangle-shaped ships coated in bronze and black followed after it. The back end of it sputtered as it swerved, the craft flying past and burying itself into the heart of the city. Another roar echoed then, the cry abruptly stopped. All those on the bridge had halted, even the attackers, to see it go past. Bucky cut a look to his commanding officer, and then to Barton, the sandy-hair man nodding fast.

"Fall back!" Barnes roared, waving down the line to the leftover warriors. Glancing back at Steve once more, he dipped his chin, Barton hard on his heels as he made the call-out to the other warriors still standing. Rogers watched them go, dread in his stomach and fear in his heart. It seemed that they were doomed to failure, and he had led them there. Doomed, and he had walked into it willingly. Raising his shield, he braced himself as he nodded for Thor to wind up. A shattering blow was dealt, the reverberation knocking down the Kree and the Chitauri swarming to them. Giving the females the go-ahead, Nebula raised her pistols in time with Gamora's swords, Mantis palming a few stunner disks that Romanoff had lent her. They disappeared into the swarm, shots and cuts interspersed with shouts and screams. They could not be held back indefinitely, and so the crowds grew around them again, Thor and Steve engaged in more combat, some running directly into them and others shooting by.

Unbeknownst to them, though, those who breezed past them were intent on the last officer on the bridge. Through it all, Heimdall had remained near his prince's side, aiding his friend as he ever had in the past. His sword ached and crashed against armor, piercing his enemies and stabbing down those who wished to do the same to him. He held his own, held his ground, his years of experience showing in that instant.

However, the battle had been long, and Heimdall was not who he once was. Though he was holding his own, he could not do so forever. Exhaustion crept into his veins, the weight of the world crashing upon his shoulders every time he lifted his sword and rushed into another opposing warrior. And sadly, he was alone in his battle, his friend separated by a widening band of enemies.

In the midst of the fight, when he paused to press a hand to his split lip, Thor chanced a glanced to where Heimdall last was. The Kree and Chitauri were closing in on him, the darkened armor obscuring his gold.

"Heimdall?" Thor cried, watching as his friend was encompassed on all sides. Realizing the exact danger he was in, the prince of Asgard attempted to spring into action. Shoving and pushing his way through the soldiers that impeded him, the god swung his hammer wide, scattering them to the winds. Only a few more feet, and then he would be able to lend his aid. Steve, noting what he was doing, was fast on his heels, intent on doing the same.

A glint of gold arched through the air, but it was not swift enough. At the join of the neck, where the armor was separated, a blaster was held, the trigger pressed back. The shot pierced through the back and out the front, Heimdall's golden eyes flashing as he choked, stumbled, and fell.

Shock and horror flooded Thor's system, followed swiftly by rage.

"Heimdall!" he screamed, Mjolnir careening and pounding through those who continued to swarm around the body of his compatriot. In his rage, he barely missed hitting Steve a few times, the other man doing his best to guard his back. There were too many, and soon, they were overwhelmed, Thor pinned under a pile of warriors and the commander's shield ripped from his arm before he was slammed against the nearest tower.

Up in the air, Tony was having little luck. Once Rogers gave the command to retreat, he and Wilson had relegated themselves to doing sweeps to free up those who were trapped. Barnes had a handle on the situation, Barton spiriting after him and into the palace to check on the others. Well, before the Milano made itself the newest fixture amidst the lower levels of the city. Bruce, unfortunately, had been caught in the crash landing, the trauma reverting him from the Other Guy back into his normal self. Last he saw of him, he was pacing along with Drax, the fellow doing his best to shield him as they herded the remaining citizens to safety.

At that point, Wilson and he had realized that Steve had essentially damned himself and Thor to a suicide mission, and had to double back. They couldn't land in time to wrest them away from the swarm, and Wilson immediately dove into the pack, wings expanding and shots fired as he went.

"Damn it," Tony groaned, diving down into the swarm of warriors to save the birdbrain's butt. Landing hard with a fist pounded into the bridge, he fought to give himself the room to use his repulsors, but the little ground he gained was seized as the sheer number of enemies crowded him. Flying off was an option, but doing so would leave the others vulnerable, and he couldn't allow that. Not once Wilson was grabbed as well, a wing sliced through with a weapon akin to his own heat beams.

"Surrender, human," the nearest Kree demanded, a blasted raised then. Tony snorted audibly, the roll of his eyes unseen due to his helmet.

"To me? Sure, I'll take that," the tech genius retorted, pivoting on the spot to keep his sights on the encroaching creatures. His canned voice echoed around him, and he held up his gauntleted hands, arc repulsors at the ready. "Line up and I'll keep track of who did so willingly. I'll be easier on those of you who do."

Tempted to pull his beam technique, he withheld it for the grand finale. Which he regretted several seconds later, a ring of blaster fire pinging off it. However, a few managed to hit key spots, wedging into plates and actually injuring him. Forced to take a knee, the crush of bodies collapsed upon him, claws and hands jerking and tugging at the armor. Repulsors fired and the boosters did the same, but he was unable to get far or enough traction to escape. Alarms rang in his helmet as wires were snapped and pulled, the power in the suit draining fast.

"Nice try, Tony," he uttered to himself, a final jarring blow crashing at the back of his helmet and knocking into him. It was enough to make spots appear before his eyes, his stability lost as claws and hands reached at the connecting points for his armor. In his haze, he felt himself being dragged away from where he'd landed, familiar voices cutting through it on and off. The screams and shouts of battle were falling away, and he was lost to it for a few moments.

He snapped to, though, when the thundering footsteps began to reverberate. They made his stomach tighten and his heart flop in his chest, and he knew, just knew, the one responsible for all this had arrived.

Glancing up through the cracked and broken plating of his helmet, he could see he was correct.

Thanos, resplendent in purple and gold, stood before the attained Avengers, his stance wide and his features etched with pride as he held up the glowing blue cube that had caused far too much trouble over the past six years. It was in a protective case for the time being, but it was clear through the glass that he held the Tesseract. Wobbling his head, Tony caught a glimpse of his rounded-up comrades. Nebula, Gamora, and Mantis were taken, pushed to stand beside Steve and Sam. Thor, it appeared, was in much the same state as he, but he was immobilized with his palms pinned flat to the ground. It would be impossible to call Mjolnir that way, and they had figured that out quickly.

He hated it when enemies could think, he groused inwardly, his mood nearly as black as the expression on Rogers' face. The giant purple menace darted his gaze along them all, and he inhaled sharply.

"Where are the others?" the giant asked the nearest officer, slowly pronouncing one of the common languages of Terra. Rogers cocked his head at that, confused for a moment as to why he could understand his speech. And then, it came to him: he wanted them to understand. He wanted them to know exactly what would be coming to them. The dread in his heart tripled, and he found himself closing his eyes, praying that the others were out of harm's way.

"Escaped. To where, I do not know," the officer reported, and relief flooded his veins. It did not lessen the dread, and in his heart, he mourned what this would do to his wife and son, but at least he knew that a good portion of his friends had hidden themselves away. Nearly black eyes narrowed in on the gathered Avengers, focusing on the two blond fellows in the center. Pointing first at Steve, and then at Thor, he continued, "But this one is the leader. And this is the true prince of Asgard."

The red-eyed giant looked down upon them, malice in his gaze and dark humor upon his lips. The corners of his mouth twisted, and he nodded at them.

"Take them and those remaining of their alliance to the ship."

"Sir?" the Kree captain asked, nonplussed by the demand. Granted, they had been sent out with the order to take the humans and their leader allies into custody, but he hadn't thought they would live long after that. He had assumed that the Titan would wish to destroy those who had stood in his path one too many times on his own. However, it seemed he would be inclined to show mercy. As if reading his conjecture in his head, Thanos narrowed his gaze on him, shaking his head briefly.

"Earth will be brought to submission if we have the correct leverage," he stated, an assessing gaze running over the earthlings in his grasp. Each one, he had no doubt, was of great worth to their planet. The commander especially would have a host of strings to pull, he mused, but they all would be useful. He would bend Terra to his will...and then, he would destroy it. Clicking his tongue, he murmured, "And then, we will proceed as before. Besides, it would be good for the project to assimilate with the others."

The Kree warrior flinched at that, but despite the curious looks he was shot, he said no more on the subject. Instead, he bowed his head to his commander and stepped back. Following suite, Thanos revealed a robed character in black and dark green as he moved, the curve of his mouth telling them all he had done so on purpose. Recognition tore through them, as the figure stepped closer, grimaces and fury ripping through them.

Of all of them, though, Thor was the most aggrieved.

"Loki, this is your doing?" he gasped, pinned upon the ground as he was. The mercy he had shown him months ago, the desire to make amends meant nothing? Perhaps he had been a little harsh in agreeing to the terms put forth by his friends, but there was a reason for it. And more to the point, Loki had given consent to wear the runed bracers. He had wanted to trust him, had wished to trust him again. He deserved the chance, they all did...but here he proved he did not. His eyes begged for an answer, for clarification on why his brother would be in league with the very creature who had upended their home, who had led the troops responsible for the deaths of so many...for the death of Heimdall.

The gimlet gaze he set upon Thor was unreadable, and Loki sighed. "I don't expect you to understand, brother."

His bright eyes flickered then, and Thor could not react before an electrical thrum pierced him at the join of his neck. A different Kree officer had a long staff in hand, two prongs on the end of it crackling with an electrical current. In the heat of battle, Stark had called it "Taser-on-a-stick", and it had worked in the same vein. The blond god was out cold then, his remaining companions staring on in shock.

"Thor!" Sam growled, his dark eyes tearing from his fallen comrade to the God of Mischief. Pure hate lit his gaze as he croaked, "You son of a—"

The Kree with the stunning apparatus came up to him then, cutting off his curse with a jab at his neck. Convulsing and jerking, he slumped over as well, unconscious beside the god. The last of his wings were removed from him, then, tossed to the side with all of the weapons and Steve's shield pieces. Loki glanced around to the others, the deep contempt in the remaining Avengers' faces drilling into him. Gritting his teeth, he looked over to where Stark was being disarmed, the last piece of his suit dragged off of him before he was pushed into the group as well. He fell before Steve and Mantis, the pair of them bracing him before he was injured further. Thanos, though, did not pay them any mind.

Instead, his gaze was turned onto the two leftover females, the pair of them standing side by side and their chins raised proudly.

"...Gamora, and Nebula. My daughters," he crooned, deceptively sweet in his tone. When they gave him nothing but baleful looks, he mockingly clicked his tongue. "Nothing to say to your father?"

Nebula's dark eyes gleamed with loathing, and she spat, "Go burn."

Literal spit flew from her mouth, landing upon the Titan's person. The warriors at his command stiffened, all of them averting their gazes to the ground. Mantis lifted a hand, preparing to reach out to Nebula, but Tony was quicker, snatching her wrist and holding her back. Rogers and he stiffened their spines, preparing to launch themselves forward if the Titan chose to strike her.

Instead, he pointedly wiped at the saliva with his thumb, eyeing it distastefully before wiping it along the material of his pants.

"I had hoped you would not be irredeemable, but it appears that the humans have corrupted you even more than I had thought." His red gaze seemed to slide to crimson when he glanced at Gamora, and a touch of anger bled through. "Maybe even defiled you."

Raising her chin, Gamora showed no fear to him, her hands clenching into fists and her dark eyes flashing.

"No more than you have with others," she veritably growled, daring to step forward. The Titan met her ferocity with a glare of his own, though his smirk remained.

"Perhaps," he replied simply, pivoting on his heel and striding away with his prize. The Kree captain called out to the warriors to form up ranks, making sure the captured would not be able to escape. Loki met the chilling looks directed at him once more, blinking once before he followed after Thanos.

"Go," the Kree captain demanded, and off a discreet nod from Steve, the teammates with him moved, Sam and Thor carried into another pod to be spirited away as well.

* * *

 **A/N:** And the action begins...

Now, we have the team split up even more so than before. With half captured and half free, are they weakened...or can they cause even more havoc and disrupt Thanos more than they did together? What is Loki's motivation in all this? What is "the project" Thanos refers to? How many more inane questions can I ask? :-P

(By the way, Natasha took a chance for a reason! She was not being foolish!)

In a bit of personal news, I have gotten a second job, which is great...but they are also scheduling me for solid shifts that will cut into my writing time, so the potential for chapters to run later than they normally have will be higher over the next few weeks. I just ask for your support and your patience as I navigate a new place, as well as continuing working with the old.

No Holly, Grant, or Earth-based stuff this time. To be honest, it may not happen until after the next chapter, but we'll get back to them soon!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	10. Chapter 10

The hours between the capture and the placement aboard the Titan's ship seemed to crawl by. Thanos, delighted in his prize and equally chagrined with the acquisition of a former ally, was determined to mount it upon his gauntlet at the soonest opportunity, instructions left to the Kree captain to install the captives in their own compartments. Those who were conscious (poor Sam and Thor were down for the count, their stupor unbroken in the move) were marched to the lower levels of the H-shaped craft, leering Chitauri and others snapping comments in languages they could not understand. Gamora and Nebula had stared straight ahead the entire walk to the prison cells, as well as Steve, but Tony could not help but flick his gaze around, his mind working fast as they went. Mantis, too, was looking around, but more in wonderment than anything else. Instinctively, she shrank closer to the other females, Gamora pointedly shielding her as they went. Just outside the cells, they were stopped in a holding room, the last of any body armor removed from them.

(One guard tried to take Steve's medallion and wedding ring from him, but when they discovered the items to be harmless, they let them be. The same went for Tony's wedding ring and the dog tags Sam was wearing around his neck, as well.)

Pushes and shoves had them in placed into individual cells, all lining a narrow hall. The doors were criss-crossed bars, locking into place without issue once the prisoners were shoved inside. Makeshift supplies were passed around per order of the enemy commander, all superficial wounds to be tended to at their own discretion. For some reason, Thanos preferred them to be alive and healing, but why would remain a mystery for the time being.

After bandaging up a couple of cuts on his arms—obtained when his suit was wrenched off of him—Stark went back to his examination, leaning a shoulder against the bars and clearing his throat.

"Well, considering the last couple of places I was imprisoned were a cave and a dungeon, this is a step up," Tony remarked wryly, taking in his surroundings yet again. The metal walls joined the tiled floors, the single bunk jutting out and padded by some sort of memory foam-esque pad. His gaze wandered to the far corner, and he smirked without humor. "There's actually a toilet in here. I think it's a toilet, anyway."

"The dip in the wall? Yes, that's a waste receptacle, Stark," Nebula replied dully then, her fire subdued as she paced her own cell beside his.

Across the floor and down two cells, a snort rebounded.

"It's like the Ritz in here," Rogers retorted then, carefully approaching the crossed bars and laying his hands on either side of the opening, leaning his full weight on them. The matted strands of his hair fell around his face and across his brow, but his blue gaze was focused on a far point above the cell across from his. Tony lifted a shoulder, scuffing a toe at the seamless tiles upon the floor.

"Probably closer to the Hanoi Hilton, but we probably won't get to know how close until much later," he remarked, glancing up in time to see the commander wince. Oh, that reference he understood, and it made both of their stomachs twist. There was no doubt that if Wilson had been conscious, he too would have cringed in distaste, but as it was, it was left to them to show it. A huff of breath shot out then, joined by a second as the moments ticked by.

"Fantastic," Gamora grumbled, her face contorting in frustration as she stood at the crossed bars of her own cell. Curling her fingers around it, she muttered something about beings of Terra and unexplained references under her breath. When she glanced back up, she shot Stark a pointed look. "Your Hanois and Hiltons and Ritz aren't really going to do us much good in getting out of here."

The billionaire inclined his chin, scratching at his goatee. "Maybe not, but it's not exactly something we can discuss, is it?"

"What do you mean?" came the calm, quite voice of Mantis, positioned farther away from her companions. Her cell, right beside Thor's and across from Sam's, put her into a corner, so she had to force herself to speak up. The blond man's palm laid against the bars, the ring on his fourth finger glinting dully in the overhead lights.

"We were put in close cells for a reason," Steve imparted, inspecting the corners and finding nothing of note. However, that did not mean there was nothing there to survey what they were doing and saying to one another. "Thanos likely has cameras and microphones trained on us, hoping to hear anything we might want to divulge, up to and including anything incriminating."

Concurrent sighs came from their other females companions, and he was sure that Sam and Thor were likely to do the same, had they been awake for the conversation. The female being down the way seemed to shuffle inside her cell, a light tapping sound coming from within as her fingers rapped against the metal.

"How do you know?" she asked him then, and Steve caught the eye-roll Nebula had engaged in at her question.

He smirked ruefully, sharing a glance with Tony and shaking his head. "Firsthand experience is a good teacher, Miss Mantis."

A dejected sigh floated out, and Mantis stopped tapping her fingers. "It is hopeless, then."

Stark's dark eyes met Steve's bright gaze, the pair of them chewing over her desolate observation.

"Hmm," the tech genius grunted, his brain working around what they already knew, and how they could use it to their advantage. Escape was paramount, but the means were beyond their grasp. It was still too early in the game to come up with something effective. At the very least, they would have to get familiar with the guard rotation, and that would still take a few more hours. He bit his lip, considering it all as he turned and went to his bunk. Silence reigned among them all as the seconds ticked by, and soon enough, Stark found himself being pulled into an uneasy sleep.

The harsh tread of boots on the tiles roused him some time later, and he pushed himself off his mattress. Standing at attention, he noted that Rogers had done the same, the blond's fists clenching as the Titan came into view. Threading through the crowd of guards, Thanos was followed by Loki, stopping in front of Steve's cell and blocking him from view.

"He is the one?" the huge, purple fellow demanded, his compatriot's dark hair shifting as he nodded.

"Yes."

Nodding as well, Thanos turned to the guard detail he brought with him.

"Bring him," he commanded, stepping back for those with the keys to the cell. They also had a set of manacles designed for creatures of great strength. Whether it was the surviving fighters that had told him, or the devious god of mischief at his right, it was unknown, but it was clear that they would go nowhere if he did not put them on. Given the long period of quiet that followed, Tony had to conclude that Steve was giving the Titan one of his infamous, stern glares. However, the creature seemed unmoved, and merely shook his head. "Fighting this will do you no good, Captain. But you already know that."

At that point, the guards supporting the manacles went into the room, and Tony pressed himself closer to the bars of his cell, worry completely threading through his person.

"Steve—" he called out, trying to get his friend to respond as the clink of interlocking metal and the shuffle of boots floated from the cell.

"Come, now," the Titan said, gesturing for the super-soldier to do as he was bid. Icy eyes looked away, taking in the two females at hand along with Tony, silently imploring them not to say a word. Stark found himself involuntarily nodding as the taller man was led away, the solid footsteps of the guards surrounding him disappearing as they left the prison wing. Gritting his teeth, Tony smacked at the wall beside the bars, inhaling deeply as he forced his mind to work faster.

After boarding a wide, freight-like elevator located distantly from the prison cells, Thanos turned to Loki, his bloody gaze raking over him as he waved a hand dismissively.

"You are dismissed, Lord Loki. We will have much to discuss later about...other matters."

Loki's face creased in a frown, but his eyes darted between the Titan and the human, and he turned on his heel, a number of the guards peeling off to follow him. The remainder of the guard pushed Steve into the elevator, a line of them blocking the entrance as it began to rise. He shifted in his stance, his weight going onto his back leg and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. Stripped of his upper armor, he felt almost bare in his t-shirt and pants, compared to the outfitted guard with them. Likewise, Thanos had also dropped his armor, the golden plating replaced by a deep purple tunic and pants. Catching the Titan staring at him, he spiked an eyebrow in response.

Taking the cue, the creature raised his chin. "I have heard much about you, Captain America. Granted, I was not able to make the connection until Lord Loki chose to divulge your identity, but now that I have, it is obvious who you are. The hair cloaks you in obscurity, but not for long."

Thanos gave his longer hair and his beard a pointed look, the corner of his mouth curving. He had heard quite a bit about the six who had defied the trickster his ambitions, and who had consequentially lost him two of the Infinity Stones. It had been slow in coming, but at least the bare details he had been given were embroidered upon once he ransacked the Collector's trove. As well as that, the few other sources he had corroborated what he'd discovered, and while he hated them all for their work against him, it was hard not to at least respect them for their gumption.

Even it did make them all fools.

Blue eyes flicked over the Titan briefly, and Steve clenched his jaw. "Guess Loki had a lot to share."

"A little. My pet project had far more to tell than he." After his confession, he noted the look of confusion decorating the human's face, and he bit back the grin that threatened to break free. The project, when he did speak, told him quite a bit about his life on Earth, which had undoubtedly changed since his habitation. However, he was more vocal about his acquaintances there...or rather, his enemies. "He had quite a lot to say, in the most interesting language. Languages, actually. You Earthlings never fail to find creative ways to curse each other."

"He?" the one called captain asked him, his shoulders visibly stiffening as they continued to walk. Thanos dipped his chin, one hand clasping his wrist behind his back.

"Yes. He remains...a little uncooperative, despite his rescue from the Collector. I hope this measure of good faith will be enough to bring him into compliance. We'll start with you, and then move onto the others soon enough." The implications made Steve's insides freeze, and as he opened his mouth to say something—a rebuttal, a refusal to cooperate, a speech to tell him off for assuming that torture would break any of them—they halted in the passageway. A long bank of glass stood before them, a heavily-weighted door set in the center. Nodding to the sentry on duty, Thanos led the way in when it was opened. Shunted in after him, Steve could see that the light metal used elsewhere in the craft extended to the wide room. It looked quite a bit like one of Tony's labs, with tables pushed around the room and various pieces of equipment toppled atop them. Two things, however, truly caught his attention. One was an upright slab, solid chain links posted at all four corners. The second was the crude etching carved into the far wall, one that made him tense in shock. The familiar skull and tentacles curling outward into a circle made him draw in a deep breath, but he still was not allowed to speak. His arms were seized, several of the creatures who had followed them up attempting to drag him over to the upright slab. It was clear that they had learned they all had to come at him at once to bring him under, and it wouldn't last long. Thanos stepped back, watching with mild interest as they forced the blond man to the slab and restrained his ankles first. "Just so you know, Captain, those chains can withstand the strength of ten super-soldiers. I wouldn't recommend straining yourself in trying to escape."

Steve's gaze glittered with irritation and indignation as the upper manacles were removed. If he could just get an arm free...unfortunately, the Kree and Chitauri soldiers there had a leg up on the infiltrated HYDRA agents when they tried the same thing in the elevator at the headquarters all those years ago, their combined strength able to push his wrists into the slab's cuffs and locking them swiftly. Satisfied with the state of things, Thanos nodded once, striding over to a panel in the far wall. Opening it, he blocked the view of the contents.

"Hello," he greeted whoever was inside. He paused, listening to the reply, and he clicked his tongue in mocking surprise. "Still don't trust me? How unfortunate." Leaning further into the space, he announced, simply, "I brought you something."

Silence followed for a few moments, before a guttural grunt resounded. "What?"

The Titan glanced over his shoulder at the restrained captain, a devilish smirk growing upon his lips.

"A present. A chance to rectify some of the wrongs of the past. Or at least an outlet to exorcize your anger for a bit."

Another moment of quiet, and then shuffling indicated the creature with was moving to come out.

"Very well," the accent in the voice was more pronounced, pulling focus as he came into view. "It is not as if I..."

Time itself seemed to stop when the being came into the room. Black clothing, cracked and weathered with age, swathed his body, but it was his head that caught the attention. The entirety of it was red, the natural skin long ago flayed away. The bright irises shined with the manic light that always dwelt beneath the surface, narrowing and drawing out the harsh line of the cheekbones. The slits where the nose was supposed to be managed to flare as he stared back, and the blond man felt his hands curl into fists. Steve could barely repress the shudder that coursed down his spine, and the deep, gut-wrenching anger that the creature instilled him all those years ago rose to the surface.

"Schmidt?" he breathed, eyes wide in shock and growing fury. When the evil bastard had been transported away from the Valkyrie, understanding now that he'd inadvertently activated a portal, he had hoped that was truly the end of it. Clearly, that was not the case. Somehow, he had survived; he recalled the Titan's earlier mention about him being a captive of someone called the Collector. Survived and was likewise a captive of Thanos, albeit one with special privileges.

The narrowed gaze lit up again in full recognition, and the lips over the teeth of his mouth thinned as he snarled.

"Captain America," Schmidt spat out, full rage sprinting through his face as he took two steps toward him. He was stopped by the large hand on his shoulder, the Titan restraining him with little effort. Red eyes flashed between the two human males before settling on another of the laboratory tables set off to the side. Following his gaze, Steve inhaled sharply when he spied the blunt instruments strewn along its surface. The intent was clear to all there, and while Steve grimaced in horrid anticipation, the Red Skull lost some of his ferocity. For a moment.

"Two stipulations, Skull: no outright mutilation, and no killing. Yet," Thanos demanded quietly, the flatness in his tone indicating he did not care one way or another that he was advocating torture. So long as the subject on the slab remained somewhat physically sound, he would let the psychopath have free rein. "I trust in your...creativity."

That said, the Titan gestured to the guards that had come with them, silently ordering them out of the room. Whatever would transpire would stay between the remaining fellows. That, and whatever damage was done to each other. As the armored beings filed out of the room, Thanos looked to both once more, the smirk turning into a terrible grin as he walked away. The airlock door snapped into place behind him, leaving the two enemies alone for the first time in decades. The Red Skull cocked his head, pacing for a moment and staring down the blond fellow. The captain's hair had grown out, his jaw was bearded, but the arrogance and the bullheadedness that was uniquely his was clear. It had seemed time had not changed either of them overmuch.

"It has been a long time, Captain. Too long. Although, I would have thought you would be dead by now," Schmidt stated, running his gloved hands over the instruments. Occasionally, he'd pick one up and examine it, his darting gaze indicative of his wish to get a rise out of Steve. However, the former Captain America would not take that bait.

"Same to you. But what we hope for and what we get aren't always the same thing, are they?" he shot back, keeping his tone as even as possible. The Red Skull's shoulders stiffened, and he swiftly put down the knife he was turning over.

"You're quite right. But see, I have no interest in the mark of your intelligence, or lack thereof." His irises glittered with marked revulsion and loathing when he looked over at Steve, his jaw clenching briefly. "Instead, I would rather see how many times I can stick you before you let yourself scream in horror and pain."

Rogers maintained his gaze, breathing rapidly out his nose. "You didn't scare me in 1945, and you don't scare me now."

The Red Skull lifted a shoulder, batting a hand through the air as he dared to edge closer to the slab.

"No, but then, you never cared for yourself when it came to fear. It was always for others. I assume that hasn't changed." Reaching out, he snatched at the medallion hanging from Steve's neck. Depressing the clasp, he flipped it open and studied the contents. Upon the Skull's viewing the pictures of Holly, Grant, and his unborn daughter, Steve involuntarily lurched forward, desperate to take it away from him. Schmidt's eyes flicked up to him then, deviousness lighting the irises. "Ah, it hasn't. Sadly, they are beyond reach, but...that won't last, will it?"

Rogers lurched again, grinding out, "You sonuva—"

Without warning, Schmidt struck him twice. The first hit landed squarely in Steve's gut, knocking the wind out of him. The second cracked along his jaw, the strength behind it undiminished by time as his head lolled to the side. Despite his own woes, the Red Skull was still capable of fighting back, and was ready to unleash it. Struggling to catch his breath, Steve could only listen as his jaw throbbed and the other man began to pace and growl aloud.

"Years gone, wasted, frozen and unfrozen, a sideshow to that _arschloch_." Halting in his steps, he turned and looked at the would-be captain again, smashing a fist down against the nearest table. "And you, you still are here."

In that moment, the feeling was mutual; the blond fellow could not believe that the Skull had endured, and he could not abide it.

Steve took in a deep breath, and glared with the deepest hatred in his heart. " _Drecksau._ "

Not fazed in the slightest by the American's slip in his own native tongue, Schmidt retorted, " _Dummkopf_. And that is the end of the schoolyard taunts, Captain. There is far more to be done."

Turning back to the table, he snatched up the first implement that came to hand: a sort of electrified prodding device. Snapping it on, Schmidt grinned insanely, advancing on Steve and leaving no doubt that he would enjoy the torture session, no matter how long it lasted.

 **xXxXxXx**

Asgard was left in shambles after the most recent attack. New pockmarks were made in buildings that had just completed repairs, and some were destroyed outright. For the displaced and the wound, the palace was opened, upon the command of the ones holding it in trust until their prince could be returned safely. Warriors—dead, dying, and injured—were brought in as well when the healing houses were filled, a few of the wings turned over to their use. And among them all were the Midgardians who had unfortunately brought the wrath of a Titan upon them. At their royal family's behest, but it still stood that they were in the thick of the battle themselves. And because of that, they had a duty to make amends with those they had inadvertently displaced. Those who maintained minor injury assisted in erecting dwellings, passing out blankets and foodstuffs from the kitchens. It had appeared that they worked tirelessly along with the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, each as determined to make up for the losses in whatever way they could. She was, as she had been in the recent past, carrying the title of Protector of the Realm, the leader to whom all deferred until Thor would return. It was no simple thing for her, and it was clear in the lines upon her brow and the hard set of her shoulders, but she did what she could for her people, and they asked no more of her than that.

By the evening, very few Asgardians were left without lodgings or food, and by the time Bucky Barnes had dared to approached the Lady Sif himself to inquire, she had just sent off Volstagg and Fandral with several unmarked soldiers to see who was left to be attended. With Steve missing—he refused to consider him otherwise until the final word came in from those trolling the waters under the bridge—it fell upon him to take up the mantle of leadership. And while it sat with no great ease, he was managing it, just as he had been for nearly two years on Earth.

"What's the word?" Bucky asked when a final soldier handed a report to Sif, her order given quickly so that she could attend to him as well.

Sif arched an eyebrow, not understanding his vernacular. "Excuse me?"

"How are the Asgardians?" he amended aloud, chiding himself for doing precisely what he'd been avoiding doing since first arriving on the alien planet. Understanding him then, the tall woman lifted her chin, quiet pride in her people rippling beneath the weighty sorrow she carried.

"On the whole, the people who have survived are well enough. Physically." Her gaze flicked to him briefly, and the corners of her lips turned down further. "However, the toll on the minds of all are heavy. It will take a longer time to repair all that, and their souls, too. Especially with the loss of great warriors."

The new captain's gaze dropped to his feet, his metal fist curling tighter at the statement. He had no doubt that the people of Asgard were exhausted, and done with the turmoil that had embroiled their world yet again.

"I'm sorry."

The brunette warrior looked to him again, poise in her form despite tiredness and the healing cuts upon her jaw. "We understood what we were doing when we chose to stand with you. We have been allies with Midgard for eons. I only wish there was more that could be done. But..."

She trailed off, darting a look to the people gathered in the throne room, to the lean-tos and dishes of food passed out to those in need. Bucky followed her gaze, lightly canting his head in the negative.

"Asgard's done enough, Sif. Tell the others we're thankful for what they could do, when you can," he said, his flesh hand cupping the air almost in supplication. The frown upon her face lessened, and she dipped her chin in silent agreement. Casting a final look out to the displaced people of Asgard, Bucky blew out a short breath. "I should probably check in with the team."

Sif nodded, a bit of cheek in her voice as she responded to his unconsciously-commanding tone, "Yes, sir."

Together, they turned, walking around the corner to one of the side staircases. She went down, saying she had other business to attend to first, while he went up another. Slowly, he picked his way up to the next floor, coming across a door of wood with little embellishment upon it. Going inside, he was met with the gazes of his fellow fighters. The remaining Avengers had chosen the great meeting hall as their place to rest and recuperate together, absconding with several tools pinched from the healing halls to dress their wounds. Banner had come down from his state as the Hulk, barely abiding the company as he pressed himself into a far alcove. The _Milano_ 's crew, consisting of Quill and his compatriots, stood at the opposite end of a long table that dominated the space. With a nod, he sent off the tall, veiny male creature along with the treelike being, the pair of them intent of seeing to the condition of their ship now that they had been tended to. The raccoon stayed by him, a muttered remark falling from his mouth and making the human male roll his eyes. In another corner, Barton was grouped with Wanda and Natasha, though it was clear that the auburn-haired woman was annoyed about something. Determined to get to the bottom of it, Bucky's gaze strayed to the remaining Warrior, Hogun. He had likewise survived the battle, though the distress and sorrow of the day's events clearly weighed upon his soul. However, he also had important news to impart, and had been waiting for the captain to arrive before doing so.

"Well, what do we have?" Barnes asked, his tone even and unyielding as he cut over the light chatter and strode to the table. In the quiet that followed, the Venir that had dedicated his life to Asgard stepped forward, doing the cross-armed salute familiar to the others before answering.

"The guardians of the waters have taken a count of all those who fell into the lake," Hogun reported, shaking his head and sighing heavily. "Only Asgardians who died were in there."

A grimace was painted upon the captain's lips, and he let out a low groan.

"So they were taken. Steve, Sam, and the others," he clarified.

Hogun blinked, barely lifting a shoulder. "Unless they could manage a vanishing act and secreted themselves in the mountains within seconds, yes. Thanos took them, most likely with Loki's blessing and insistence."

Expressions ranging from indignation to rage ringed the group at the trickster's name, the others well aware of his defection by that point.

"He had no issues with killing the soldiers, neither of them, really," Clint Barton noted darkly, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Why would he bother taking them? After all, we opposed him in the past, and it's not likely he wants us alive."

"He wouldn't," Bruce Banner cut in then, pushing away from the alcove he'd been settled in and joining the discussion. "Not unless it was worth something to him."

"Woah," Quill cut in then, leaning his hands onto the table and furrowing his brow. "You mean, Thanos is holding onto Gamora and Mantis, and the others, for...?"

Bruce nodded, seeing no reason to deflect or lie. "Leverage, yes. Leverage against us, or against Earth in general, I don't know, but you're right. If he didn't kill them outright, there's a plan there."

"One that was definitely supported by the resident psychotic god," Barton concluded aloud, perching his backside upon the table's edge and rotating a sore shoulder. Clicking his tongue, he turned over a thought he'd been considering for quite awhile, through going to the healers and he began to mentally analyze what went wrong. Arching a brow, he glanced over to his oldest friend, watching as Natasha crossed her arms and waited. "Speaking of which, how did he slip his cover? Last I checked, he had some voodoo-inscribed manacles that were supposed to prevent him from doing so."

A loud, huffing breath shot out of Wanda Maximoff then, the auburn-haired young woman veritably scowling from her spot by the wall. Natasha faced her fully, not even flinching when she felt the waves of disgust radiated from her compatriot as she strode forward.

"She insisted it be done," the Scarlet Witch announced, jabbing a finger in Romanoff's direction. As confused looks darted between the two women, the redhead pointed at her in return.

"With your aid."

Wanda scoffed audibly at that. To the team, she stated, "I trusted her judgment. Which I've been regretting since that moment."

A hand thumped hard against the table, nearly rattling its contents off, and several pairs of eyes turned onto Doctor Banner. He had since reverted back into his human form (Asgardian leggings and tunic hanging loosely around his frame), but the fire that burned within him had not been tamped. For months, over a year, he'd been in the company of Thor and his kin, had seen to the detention of Loki and keeping him away from the tiny footholds of power he attempted to gain over and over again. And now, now, Natasha had willingly jeopardized that?

He could not let that pass, nor could several others.

"You let Loki go?" Clint barked, unconsciously stepping towards Bruce and siding with him. The reckless move by his closest friend, by someone who understood the bone he had to pick with the trickster in question, was unfathomable, and he let it show in his voice. Shocked expressions ranged around the room, and Banner felt his fury climb a few notches as he stared down Romanoff. A slight crease came to her brow, and a careful frown pulled at her lips, but that was all the emotion she would show over the matter, and it irked him.

"Have you lost your mind?!" he growled, both hands on the table and his anger getting the better of him. "You know how dangerous he is, how untrustworthy—"

"Exactly," she cut him off then, bracing her palms against the table, too. Her ocean-colored eyes were laced with the storm brewing beneath the surface, yet she managed to retain control over her voice. Her brows rose, and she darted a look to all the others in the room, ending on Bucky as she continued to make her case. "I know that, and you all do, too. He is dangerous, he is a slimy little snake...a slimy little snake with his entire being bent on revenge. That's really what motivates him: revenge, and his own sense of inadequacy." Gesturing to Hogun, she inquired, "He confessed to you that Thanos had been the one to put the scepter into his hands years ago, right?"

The great warrior dipped his chin, eyes darkening at the thought. "Indeed, he did."

"Right. Thanos promised him power, a planet and a throne of his own to rule. He also said he would lend aid. But what happened when that all fell apart? He lost the power, he lost his chance to rule, and he lost Earth. And when the Chitauri forces withdrew, on whose orders did that happen?" Natasha pointedly paused, letting that sink in before she turned and faced Quill. "It would've been hell to make too many jumps, but it could have happened, right?"

Peter dipped his chin, about to reply, when Rocket stepped forward and scratched at one of his ears.

"It would have wickedly messed him up, but I mean, what is left in there to mess up?" the raccoon-like creature retorted, earning a bleak grin from the redheaded beauty and him mentally pumping a fist in earning it from her.

"Exactly. Thanos abandoned him. Sure, Loki hates us. But Thanos promised him what nobody else did, he gave, and then he took away when he needed an ally most. Not only that, I wager he promised more than a crown to Loki. I would say he would've gotten a lot more than a slap on the wrist for his failure, and was told as much. Thanos tried to intimidate him."

Silence settled as the suppositions she posed were digested.

"Anger and fear. Powerful motivators for one such as him," Hogun breathed, rubbing a hand against his chin. The others bobbed light nods, and Romanoff crossed her arms, preparing to go in with the killing point.

"He went to Thanos, with the intention of taking him out himself. Whether he succeeds and tries to take over his armada for himself, or if he does no more than inadvertently sacrificing himself in the process and delaying his arrival at Earth, doesn't matter," she stated, stepping back from the table and cocking a hip out. "It's that he will seize his chance to lay the psychotic fellow low when he least expects it, and jeopardize his mission, long enough for us to get in and work against him."

Banner hummed low in his throat, the ire in his eyes lessening little by little. "He's a diversion. A highly unstable one, but a diversion, anyway."

The redhead raised her chin almost proudly at his conclusion. "Which is why we have to be ready for him, too, when the time comes. However, he is the devil we know."

Bucky inhaled sharply, raking a hand back through the loose strands of his matted hair.

"Nat, this is a huge gamble."

She looked at him, her gaze softening only slightly.

"It's what we have to work with." The implication of the pet name she'd gifted him with, _Medved'_ , was left hanging unsaid in the air, but he still felt it. Shifting her stance, she cleared her throat and replied, "And it is an advantage. We'll have an unwitting ally to work with at some point."

Quill's eyes bounced between the pair, the feeling of accidentally stumbling on another couple's intimacy flaring in his mind for some reason. Coughing loudly, he tapped a finger along the tabletop, letting his gaze focus on a far point of the wall.

"Meanwhile, a number of our friends are gonna be close to that fall-out when it happens," he stated bluntly, the frown that had dissipated mere minutes before having returned.

"Yes, but one's a god, one's a crafty tech genius, and at least two others are trained to neutralize threats like him by your own admission. And, their leader is a super-soldier. I believe they will be capable of holding their own, once they find an opening. I have faith in that."

Another long moment of quiet passed, and then Wanda strode forward, crossing her arms and the barest semblance of acceptance on her face. The Black Widow was clearly still in the dog house with her (never mind that she had inadvertently put herself there as well), but the Scarlet Witch wanted to move past it.

"So what can we do?" she asked, looking around to the others for ideas. Bucky rolled his shoulders back, hands going to his hips as he briefly bit his lip in consideration.

"Well, we know where they're headed," he said softly, a glimmer rising in his irises. Shrugging a shoulder to all, he supplied, "Let's see if we can cut them off at the pass."

Peter's spine straightened, a wary look dancing across his features. "We go to Earth?"

Barnes inclined his head. "To Earth. Doctor Strange has been in contact with us on and off while we've been here; he should be on his way to check in pretty quickly. We'll get the word out, and get this done."

Out the corner of his eye, Rocket caught the swallowing bobbing Peter's Adam's apple, but he deftly chose not to remark upon it. If they had to take the fight to Terra, then to Terra they would go. Asgard's part had been played, and it was time to move on, despite misgivings and doubts.

 **xXxXxXx**

Sif stood at the pyre, one of many that she had the opportunity to visit over the past hours. Underground, stretching for miles, were the catacombs dedicated to the dead, their bodies transported there to be cleaned and prepared for the afterlife. Alcoves led upon more alcoves, the bronze glow on the walls subdued in the torch light. Distant voices broke through the silence, wails and cries of those left behind echoing out to her as she approached one of the grander alcoves. Many of the fallen Asgardians were being laid to rest, their final wounds cleaned and their armor replaced with peaceful, flowing garb. Funerals would be held as time went on, but not all. The one she stood before would be one of those.

Heavy tears rimmed her eyes, well-earned and deserved for the fellow posed in his final rest. The golden plate mail he'd sported for as long as she'd known him was put off, along with his armaments and his helm. At heart, he had been a simple fellow, looking out for danger to his home and those he loved.

Heimdall's sacrifice would not be in vain, she vowed silently as she knelt at the foot of pyre, coughing once to loosen the knot in her throat.

"Heimdall, my friend. I wish we could do more for you than this," she breathed, hands pressed to the edge of the stone pyre and her voice thick with emotion. "But until this battle is won, and this war ended, I fear that this pyre is the best we can do. I know you would understand that, but I still wish it were otherwise."

Sif knew that the fallen guardian deserved the highest honors, knew that Thor would feel the same way, and once all was settled, they would give him that together. Her throat tightened again as she thought upon her captured friend. They had trained together, fought together, lived side by side as the leading protectors of Asgard. For centuries, she and the others had fought along with his causes, and he with theirs. A cold, hard hand of fear constricted around her heart, the pit of her stomach tightening as she acknowledged how truly dangerous things had gotten in the past years. After all their battles and wars, it seemed likely that it could be his last. And with him at the mercy of the enemy, with his brother aiding him, how long would he last? Loki knew his weaknesses, knew pressure points that even she could not fathom.

Shaking her head, Sif stood up, an arm crossing over her chest and a last salute given to her fallen friend. Thor would survive, he had to...Asgard needed its prince, and she...

Well, she would look for him to return. Which he would, one way or another. Even if it involved her dragging him back herself, somehow.

Exiting the alcove backward, she passed along the route through that area of catacombs, nods of condolence exchanged with those who had lost their loved ones, their friends, to the battle with the Titan. Grief was given free rein there, without any blame or malice passed among those who were there. It was not the place for it; the dead deserved respect, and any outbursts beyond those expressing sorrow for the losses felt were prohibited since time immemorial. Scores were to be settled by the living, after all. And though there were some who regretted that their prince had pledged support to the Midgardians, they would not nay-say them there. Not since the Midgardians were suffering, too.

Up the broad, wide stairs to the surface she went, sighing deeply as she marched past the two warriors posted at the entrance. They bowed their heads to her as she walked, her standing great due to her prowess and the responsibility bestowed upon her in Thor's absence. However, she could have done without the obeisance, if it meant her friend was returned home safely, along with those who were taken with him. Another sharp fingertip of dread traced down her spine, but she forcibly canted her head against it, determined to continue with her personal patrol. She wanted to the guard stationed upon the bridge, more repairs to be made yet again.

As she began to make her way over there, she halted as a piercing gold craft suddenly shunted itself through the clouds. The curved ship was quite a bit smaller than the galaxy-ranging Midgardian's, but it appeared hearty enough to withstand the jumps and travel it would have to endure to make it to Asgard. It made a beeline for the upper craft landing decks, and she felt a tremor of befuddlement and shock shake her.

"What is...?" she wondered, her feet beginning to move on their own volition. Picking up the pace, she had gone into a full run, transcending the stairwells and walkways to make her way over to the upper landing decks. As it turned out, she was not alone in her inquiry; The sorcerer that the Midgardians had called upon was matching step with her, coming out of a side door just as she shot by. His crimson cape flowed behind him, his amulet thumping hard against his chest as his eyes brightened in curiosity. His long stride insured that he was with her upon approach, the remaining guard ringing around the new arrival much like they had when the first harbinger arrived so many days ago. More footsteps clattered into the space, the captain and those of his ilk not busy with lending aid to those in need ready to respond to the potential threat. The remaining Guardians of the Galaxy, as they had called themselves, were prepping their own ship for travel, and were the first upon the scene when the smaller craft landed. The furry, animal-like creature was armed to the teeth, marked distrust in his eyes, while the human behind him had slapped the palm of his hand to his face. The larger, veined fellow who traveled with them was holding back the treelike creature, and the rest filed in to stare as the craft's door opened.

The being within had the proportions of a human male, though taller than most there. What was striking, beyond his height and build (and the stolen garb of the outfit that the Midgardian Quill had once been part of), was the golden cast to his body. His skin, his hair, even his very eyes were golden.

One of the Sovereign, someone whispered, and he half-turned his head, a mild frown forming on his lips.

It was at that point that Sif had had enough. In the quick succession of days, the building done to restore her home had been damaged, friends had been lost, and a deep danger to the universe was still roaming free. She had reached the end of civility and calm. Withdrawing her sword, she strode up to the newcomer, extending her hand and placing the blade near his neck. The golden fellow barely flinched and instead held himself still so as to not risk a cut. The others hissed and groaned at her to withdraw, but she refused with a sharp glare.

"I warn you, I will not be trifled with," she stated sternly, venom and distrust in her voice as she raised her chin. She was not intimidated by his height or build, or the eerie glow of his gaze. Narrowing her eyes into a tighter glare, she growled, "State who you are, and I might let you go unscathed."

The golden being remained at attention, but the shift in the air around him caused them all to pause. Slowly, he lifted his hands, the stir of his coat in the light breeze accompanied by the rolling tone of his voice. Power radiated from it, and from within himself, but he maintained calm, the knowing look on his face registering then.

He was expecting hostility, but had hopes to stem it.

"I bear tidings, ones that could be to your benefit," he told them, palms going out in placation. Swallowing once, his gaze dropped slightly, but his voice remained strong as he announced, "And I am...I am called Adam."

* * *

 **A/N:** ...Chapter 10, everyone. Which could be alternately titled, "How Many Things Can Be Thrown Out At Once?" :-P Sorry guys, had a couple of ideas, and wanted to pursue them. One of which being that perhaps, somewhere out in the cosmos of this universe, Red Skull survived his teleportation. Not only survived, but was picked up by the Collector as a piece for his private gallery (remember how it was hinted at in the first chapter when Thanos found the one storage unit?)...

And yes, that is Adam Warlock at the end. GOTG 2 teased, and I went with it.

Sorry I was late with this one, guys. It's been a strange week for me...strange and busy. Some of you are probably tired of seeing this, but again, no Holly or Grant in this one. I'm sorry, but it's been stated from the beginning that she has no place being part of the main action of battle. However, that is not to say that we will not get back to her. In fact, we should be returning to Earth soon...as in the next chapter. So hang on; it is coming.

The German words used in the chapter are all curse words that, while on the surface don't translate as harmful, actually kind of are. Just have to think of the context. And also, _Medved'_ is Russian for "bear."

I'll probably end up posting the next chapter around this time next week, since that seems to be where my scheduling is dictating it go for the time being. I'll try not to take too long!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	11. Chapter 11

Holly Rogers groaned, rolling from side to side on the bed as the rays of the sun began to filter through the curtains. The frame itself rocked and squeaked a little, a sound that she'd long since gotten used to since taking up residence in the house. She had been tossing and turning a good portion of the night, snatches of sleep broken up by aches and the interminable weight of her thoughts.

As she had told Maria Hill before their flight out of New York, she did know of a place to go to lay low for a long while. And, luckily for her and her son, the place was still open to them. Laura Barton was not one to turn down friends in need—a trait she shared with her husband, and for that Holly was grateful. It took two days on the road, but with the shielding engaged and the stops at rest areas and gas stations going as swiftly as possible, the Rogers clan found itself rumbling up the road to the farmhouse owned by Clint and his family. Laura, along with Lila and Cooper's help, had gotten them all settled in the house. Holly had taken the spare room on the third floor, the craft table and supplies shoved out of the way for the old bassinet that had been used for the Barton children (cleaned, and with a sweet, knitted blanket folded up inside it). Grant was set up in Nate's room, given that the boys were of an age and had similar sleep schedules. His pack-n-play was padded with additional blankets, and he was sleeping soundly there. Bonnie was folded into the flow, given leave to sleep with either Lila or Cooper, depending upon whichever one had earned her favor that day. It took awhile to get used to the extra loads of laundry and the doubled-up amounts of food to serve every day, but Laura never uttered a word against it.

Holly was so grateful for the aid. Grateful, and disappointed in herself for making her family a burden upon another. It was just another thought to add to the bevy that sat on her brain. Rolling onto her back, she sighed, a mental review of the facts filtering through then.

One month since Steve and the others had disappeared into the great unknown. Two weeks since she'd been forced to leave home as well, taking Grant and their little corgi along for the ride. One week until her daughter's due date, but...she shook her head, pushing herself up and swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. Though on the third floor, she could hear the activity of the house rumbling down below, and she knew that she could not dally there any longer. Shuffling to the stairs, she gripped the banister tightly as she stepped, listening as the voices became clearer.

"Mom! Cooper took the last waffle!" a young, childish female voice echoed up the stairwell. Holly let out a tiny snort, memories of her own childhood competing for certain foodstuffs against her siblings coming to the fore as she walked.

A loud groan followed, and the male voice that answered hitched and squeaked at odds points when he replied. "You snooze, you lose, Lila!"

"You've already had three! I wanted another. You're just being selfish."

"Well, you were too slow. Eat some cereal or somethin', whiner."

Holly was partway down the next flight of stairs when she heard the young girl's aghast crow.

"Mo-om!"

With that, the clank of a spatula hitting a pan cracked, and the brunette woman halted for a second, wide-eyed as she listened to Laura Barton lose her patience.

"Enough!" she demanded, her tone brooking no argument as she continued, "Cooper, stop picking on your sister. Lila, there's fruit or you can have a granola bar when you're finished with your own waffle. Eat up, the bus will be here in twenty minutes."

Reaching the bottom of the final stairwell, Holly paused again, taking a quick breath as she palmed her belly. Treading the flights hadn't gotten any easier, and it seemed that it would remain that way for the rest of the pregnancy. Brushing her palms over the sleep shirt she wore and smoothing over the wrinkles, she went through the wide archway, catching Lila smirking proudly as her older brother jerked away from her at the table.

"Ouch!" Cooper snapped, glaring at his sister before shooting his mom a look. "She pinched me."

Laura, standing beside the two toddlers on the floor, raised an eyebrow at her teenaged son.

"Stop it, or both of you will be grounded. I mean it," she said, emphasizing the gravity in her pronouncement with a flat look. Lila and Cooper both turned back to their plates, jaws set mulishly as they shot harsh looks to one another and ate. Shaking her head, Laura attempted to crease her lips into a smile. "Morning, Holly. Sorry about the noise."

Holly lifted a hand, fingers brushing through the air. "It's okay. I wasn't really sleeping, anyway."

Laura's brow furrowed, spying the light smudges underneath her eyes. "You feeling alright?"

"My back's been aching since midnight," the younger brunette professed, scratching at the curve of her belly. "Hard to sleep through it."

Grant, who had been sitting beside Nate on the floor and playing with a plastic cow, looked up at his mother. When she started to rub at the small spot on her back, he pushed himself up and toddled over on unsteady feet.

"Owie?" he asked her, blue eyes wide as he patted her shin.

"No, Mommy's fine, sweetheart," Holly hastened to reassure her boy, managing a weak smile. Biting her lip, she held out her hands to him, scooping him up and turning to the table. "C'mon, let's get you some breakfast, huh?"

The toddler nodded eagerly, wiggling in excitement even as she placed him in his high chair. Laura followed suit with Nate, getting the pair of toddlers their own cut-up waffles (saved from the onslaught of the teenager and little girl, and hidden) and letting them eat. Cooper snorted in disgust when he spotted what his mother had done, but he was silenced when she glanced back at him. Lila, availing herself to the bowl of strawberries on the table, still wore her look of quiet satisfaction as the rest of breakfast went on. With some remaining batter in a bowl on the counter, Holly was preparing a couple of thin waffles for herself and Laura when the older children finished their meal. They sprang into action, bustling around the house for their things as their mother called after them.

"Got your bags? Lunches?" Laura asked, nodding to the two brown, paper bags sitting out for them. Lila and Cooper snatched up everything they needed for school, each of them giving her a kiss on the cheek before jogging out the door. Watching them go, the older woman leaned out the frame herself, shouting down the driveway, "Okay, be good, love you!"

Every weekday morning that she had been at the farmhouse had been like that, and the sense of home it instilled was something she rather liked. At the waffle maker, Holly had to stifle a laugh, recalling how her own mother had done the same things to Hank, Heather, and her as they grew up. Granted, since they lived in a cul-de-sac, it was quite easy for Lisa to say good-bye to her children, but the similarities between then and now made fondness swell inside. With a couple of waffles completed, she brought them over to the table, snickering lightly as she sat down and Laura blew out a fast breath.

"End of the year is coming soon," Holly noted aloud, the other woman dipping her chin as she dropped onto a chair on the opposite side of the table. Flicking her gaze in the direction the children had gone, she wondered, "Are they going to keep attending public school?"

Laura blew out a sigh, brushing back a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I think so. Cooper's taken to it like a duck to water, surprisingly. He's made new friends, and has kept up with his homework. He seems happier. And Lila, well, she can adapt to almost anything, even at her age. The novelty of switching rooms and having different teachers for different subjects hasn't worn off for her."

Holly speared a piece of waffle then, chewing slowly as she took in that information. "And you?"

"Well, it has been a nice change of pace, working at the bakery in the mornings," the older woman responded, referencing the part-time job she'd picked up after the school year had started. As far as Holly knew, she loved it there, putting some of her home skills to the test and coming out the victor when she went into work. A wistful glimmer fluttered across her irises, and she tapped a finger against the tabletop. "Gave Clint the chance to poke around the farm for a few undisturbed hours, at least."

The younger brunette shared in the pensive thought, though it was soon broken by the slight, mischievous grin curving her lips.

"And I'm sure you made the most of the rest of those undisturbed hours before you got Nate home from daycare," she remarked, barely holding down a bark of laughter as she chewed the last piece of waffle. Laura clicked her tongue and shook her head, but it did nothing to hide the wry smile stretching her mouth. Dark eyes a couple of shades lighter than her own glanced over Holly, and the Barton matriarch leaned back in her chair.

"How are you, really?" she wondered, the seriousness invading her tone impossible to ignore. Holly, opening her mouth to give a pat answer, was stalled, seeing the sincerity in her friend's gaze. The only thing she could think to do was shrug, her own answer paused on the tip of her tongue.

"I'm..." she trailed off, uncertain of how she truly was. All the emotions she'd been sitting on for a month were roiling beneath the surface, and along with that, the pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc upon her, too. Adding in the fact that her husband was beyond even basic contact and her family unable to know where she was for the foreseeable future, and she could not begin to think of a response. Laura, in turn, nodded as well.

"I know. And it's not easy, especially with..."

Her gaze flicked down toward where Holly's belly curved below the lip of the table, and then over the wedding ring and claddagh perched on her finger.

"You do know," Holly murmured, only a few notches above a whisper. Setting her fork down, she framed her belly with her hands, the kicks of her daughter within rebounding against her palms. "I think...I think she's going to be coming soon. The aching and the tiredness, it feels just like right before Grant was born."

To her relief, there was no alarm on Laura's face when she announced her feelings. Instead, the older woman blinked and tipped her head to the side, examining her.

"Wouldn't she be early, then?" she asked, and Holly's chin inclined.

"By a week, but, well... I've had Braxton Hicks, too, and this is...not feeling like that."

Truly, Braxton Hicks often made her think she could be giving birth at any moment, but the way her body felt then, the way it ached and pulled all over, was far too reminiscent of those hours before Grant was ready to grace the world with his presence. Perhaps it was silly to think such things, but she couldn't ignore the message coming from her gut telling her that her daughter was primed and ready to appear. Looking up, there still was no censure in Laura's eyes, and the older woman merely rose from her chair to start collecting the breakfast dishes.

"Well, good thing I have the next couple of days off, huh?" she said, shooting her friend an exaggerated wink. "Gotta be ready for it."

Holly snorted, pushing her chair back and preparing to get up. "Yeah, thanks."

"Mama, done!" Grant cried then, his tiny plastic fork banged against the tray of the high chair. Nate Barton, in his booster seat, wobbled around as well, begging his own mother to be let out. Holly snickered under her breath, striding over to the high chair first.

"Alright, buddy," she replied, unbuckling her boy from the seat and lifting him up, a smacking kiss planted on his cheek before he was set on the floor. She went to Nate next, ruffling the boy's sandy hair fondly and putting him beside the other toddler.

"Pway?" Grant asked Nate once Holly stepped back, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Let's play," the older toddler said, grabbing Grant's wrist and bustling over to the front sitting area beyond the kitchen, the toy bins there ready and waiting for them.

The rest of the morning passed easily enough, the borderline summer breeze warming the leftover spring air as it drifted in through the windows Laura had opened. In the distance, there were sounds of machinery, lending credence to Laura's confession that, with Clint gone, she had chosen to hire out the fields to a couple of other nearby farmers for their crops. Once the dishes were done, the older woman went out to check on the chicken coop and the lone cow in the barn, leaving the two toddlers in Holly's care. Bonnie padded around the house as the boys took turns chasing after her, smothering her with hugs and kisses when they did catch up. Taking up a position at the table with her laptop, Holly kept an eye out for them all as she checked on her email inbox.

Her publisher had sent a report about her finished novel, the projected numbers for sales looking good and confirmation that it would be out and on shelves within the next couple of weeks. Along with that came a short message from Maria Hill, informing her that Senator Ross had done his rounds and was positively livid to find that all those with connections to the missing team members had been evacuated from the area. Members of his own faction were still poking around the countryside, though they seemed to be dwindling in numbers as the days passed. With any luck, she and the others could be called home before long. Above that was a message from Kay, who was neck-deep in projects to keep herself occupied while waiting for the signal to get back home. Sighing, Holly silently lamented their fates for a few seconds before brushing it off. Even if they couldn't be there, they at least were finding things to do in the meantime.

Her phone sat to one side, a text coming in from her mother telling her that she loved her and hoped she was okay. She'd gotten into the habit after Holly had first contacted her parents after going into hiding. While Lisa Martin was unable to shelter her daughter or grandson, she was determined to at least stay in touch regarding their well-being. Holly easily conceded to that, since her mother would always pass the word along to her dad and siblings. Another short breath streamed out of her nose as she tapped her reply. She missed them sorely, but there was nothing for it.

Life went on, and so would she.

The afternoon trickled by, with Holly putting out a few sandwich fixings for lunch and setting them out on the counter. The boys were given some instant macaroni and cheese, eating in their chairs just as Laura came back into the house. There was little chatter among them, with the Barton matriarch choosing to turn on her iPod and plug it into speakers. The music filled the space as they all ate, the quiet of country living settling beyond its fringes. Grant and Nate were allowed to have a few more minutes of playtime after lunch before afternoon naps, and Laura had found Nate's old stacking ring toy. Holly took Bonnie outside, letting her sprint to the end of her lead before the retraction was enforced. The little corgi bounded around her in between tending to her needs, Holly chuckling as they made a trip to the mailbox and back. Bringing in the bills and mailers that had been delivered, she barely set down the envelopes and freed Bonnie from her harness when a sharp twinge pierced her. Gasping, she pushed her shoulder into the nearby wall, the snap of a rubber band reverberating in her ears.

"Oh, oh no," she grunted, bending at the waist as another ripple of pain shot up and through her body. Red flushed into her cheeks as she glanced at her shorts, the wetness spreading across them making her groan just as much as the contraction that hit her next. Laura, shooting up from her spot on the floor with the boys, went to her side and took her hand.

"Is it time?"

Holly's wince was so pronounced that even Laura flinched. "I think so."

Inhaling deeply, Laura dipped her chin and began to lead her away. "Alright. We'll grab your stuff, and go."

Something about her tone seemed off, but Holly could not swear to it. And when the next contraction pierced her, it was forgotten as she waddled over to the door, forced to watch as Laura swiftly put out food and water for Bonnie and gathered up the boys. All of them shuffled slowly to the new Tahoe the Bartons had gotten in the past year, the toddlers strapped into car seats and Holly braced up to sit passenger. Keeping calm, Laura had her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she went back inside, the quick call she'd made over by the time she'd locked up and returned with the hospital bag Holly had prepared weeks ago.

The drive into town was relatively quiet. The boys barely chattered to one another in their seats, sensing the tension coming from the front. Holly, not wanting her son to see how much pain she was in, often ducked towards the door, her bottom lip nearly bitten to shreds to keep in her cries of hurt. The road wound ahead, the fields and trees melting away as they approached the small town the Bartons lived near. Maneuvering the vehicle as fast as possible, Laura got her to the hospital in good time. On the way over, she made another call to a couple of the mothers of Lila and Cooper's school friends, asking if one of them could bring them to the hospital after the day was over. Luckily, one of them was able to oblige, and so she was allowed to help Holly into the hospital, sending her ahead while she watched over the toddlers.

A few hours had passed, with Holly being placed on another epidural and biding her time in the room she was checked into. She'd managed to get her phone out herself, calling her brother and sister to pass the word along to the rest of the family about the impending birth of her daughter. Hank had expressed his sympathies for not being able to be with her, and Heather did as well, but there was little else either of them could do. She also sought out her doctor in New York, who spoke over the phone to the doctor who would be taking care of her and the baby there. The conversation between the two medical professionals was—no joke intended—rather clinical, but they ultimately reached a rapport and agreement for her treatment while she was there.

Laura came in to check on her once Cooper and Lila were brought in, the teenager left in charge for a few minutes. Reporting how the little boys were wondering what was going on, the older brunette laughed when Holly merely said she would not be the one to give her son the where-babies-come-from talk any time soon, and that she was welcome to take that on. A minute or two passed after that, the beeps of the monitors and Holly's own nervous breaths filtering through the air. Laura was checking her phone every few seconds, and just before her friend could ask what she was looking at it for, her face lit up on the next glance. When she saw that she'd been caught out, the older woman ignored the questioning look, instead nodding to the door.

"Holl, I need to step out for a minute. You think you'll be alright?"

Holly's eyebrows inclined, and she snorted audibly.

"Sure, not like I'm going anywhere," she grumbled, wriggling in the uncomfortable hospital gown. As Laura walked out of the room, Holly sank back against the pillow behind her shoulders, a long sigh pouring out. The intermittent contractions were dulled by the epidural she'd chosen to have, but it did nothing to ease the swirl in her mind. Unlike the first time she gave birth, she was not terrified by the prospect of potential pain, or the act of expelling a child out of her womb. (Well, at least not to the level she had for Grant's birth.) Instead, her fear was slowly being superseded by sadness, tears of pain being replaced by tears of sorrow as the minutes ticked by. A couple dripped down her face, and she sniffled, her hands curling into fists as she struggled to get a hold of herself. Focusing on her spread knees beneath the blanket, she didn't look up when two raps came at the door, merely grunting for whoever it was to come in.

"How are you, hon?" asked a familiar voice, and she automatically shook her head, hiding the fallen tears with one hand and trying to blot them away.

"Fine, Mom," she replied without thinking. When the familiar voice and her own response registered, her gaze flew up. There, in the doorway, was Lisa Martin. She looked exhausted, her silver-blond hair barely combed back into a braid, but her eyes were bright. Bright with joy, and concern for her youngest child. Holly gaped for several seconds, having to swallow before being able to stutter, "Mom?"

Lisa immediately came into the room, crossing to her daughter and wrapping her arms around her. More tears slipped out as Holly buried her face against the older woman's shoulder, intense surprise and a sense of relief flooding through her then. After several long seconds, she looked up again, casting a glance back to the doorway. Laura was standing there, a wide grin on her lips and her arms folded across her chest. Holly's eyebrows rose, her tongue stuck as she tried to talk. The other brunette woman dipped her chin, and her smile softened.

"I had my own favors to call in with Maria and Nick," Laura murmured, answering her unspoken question. Unable to say anything to that—and being beyond grateful for the fact that her friend had that much built-up favor with those two—Holly nodded heartily. Laura chuckled a little at that before hooking her thumb back at the door. "I'll be out with the kids."

That stated, she left the mother and daughter in the room to themselves, ready to watch over Holly's boy and keep an eye out for everything beyond the hospital room walls. Holly herself still could not find the words to express her happiness at having family with her. It had to have been planned in advance, she knew that much, if Lisa had been able to get out there that quickly. Perhaps Laura used up all her banked credit; maybe Maria still felt awful about having to send her into hiding. Either way, she had her mother with her, and she wouldn't be alone in the delivery.

Lisa, for her part, grinned down at her girl, smoothing the waves of her dark hair as another nurse came in to check on her.

"My Holly Jean," she murmured, sighing as the nurse confessed that it wouldn't be much longer before the action would begin. A tremor shot through the young mother then, and her hands shook slightly.

"Mom," Holly started, choking up again as a fresh wave of heartache ratcheted up inside her. Looking to her mother, she blinked against the onslaught of tears, and she shook her head. Weathered fingers reached up and dashed a few away while she attempted to give voice to the thought she was unable to get out of her mind. "He's, he's...she's coming, and he's not—"

In the back of her mind, she felt she was being stupid, and weak, and all sorts of other negative connotations because her husband was off and, essentially, at war, and she wanted him there so badly. Hundreds upon thousands of women had been in her shoes in the past, and she had no real excuse, she believed, to lament and cry as much as she was. There were plenty of women who had no man in their lives, raising children and giving birth to them, and carrying on without bawling like a brat.

Lisa gently hugged her again, let her youngest cry against her shoulder and get out all the bottled-up emotions flow forth for several minutes. Inside, her own heart was breaking for her girl, and for Steve, too. She cared for her son-in-law, and did not think she could have chosen a better man for her daughter. However, she wouldn't deny that the situation they were all in at the moment (vagueness aside; there were details of his undercover mission that Holly was still withholding, and she doubted she would be able to get the full word on those) was difficult.

"I know, sweetie, I know," she said soothingly, rubbing her palm up and down Holly's back. When the tears started to peter off, she cupped the young woman's chin, making her look her in the eye. Inhaling sharply, she stated with total confidence, "But you can do this. You know you can."

The faith her mother had in her had Holly's throat constricting against another wave of emotion. Struggling to steady her breath, she eventually nodded in return, finding a fraction of the courage that sat deep inside her.

"...Yeah."

The remainder of the birth ended up being something of a blur to Holly. With her mother there and acting as her birthing coach, and Laura watching Grant along with the rest of the children out in the sitting area, her mind was forced to concentrate on the functions of her body. The little one inside did not wait much longer to come, the doctor and nurses attending on her prompting as the moments went by, the sweat of her brow dripping into her eyes and the strain on her muscles all-consuming even with the numbing effect of the epidural. It seemed to be merely a blink of an eye before she dealt the last push, Lisa gripping her hand tightly and cheering her on as the baby came into the world. All six pounds, nine ounces of her came out with a shrill cry, birth-darkened eyes many shades darker than Grant's had been, and her grandmother wondered if they would end up being brown like Holly's as she grew. As for herself, Holly was overjoyed to know she was whole, and healthy, and there. Her exhaustion filtered in, but she did not relinquish the little baby girl even when she had to get stitched up (just like the first time, and she was not pleased with that). Wisps of hair tickled her palm as she cradled the baby's head, the pink puffs of her cheeks kissed after both had been cleaned up and redressed.

Perfect, her little daughter was perfect, just like Grant had been.

Twilight danced along the horizon when Laura Barton found the chance to go in and see Holly herself. Lisa Martin, tired but proud of her daughter's efforts, took over in watching out for the children, taking them all down to the cafeteria to get some late dinner. The doctor that had been in attendance on Holly had slipped out just Laura was escorted in by the nurse, the older gentleman smiling faintly at her before moving off.

"What's the verdict?" she inquired, the corner of her mouth curving. Holly mirrored her expression, glancing at the clear bassinet nearby.

"The doctors want to keep us both overnight, just to keep an eye on things, but we should be good to go in the morning."

"Gotcha," the older brunette said, hooking a thumbs-up at her and grinning. Clearing her throat, she went on, "Just so you know, your mom and I agreed that she will stay for a week at the house. Nick managed to pull a feint, and as far as the outer world knows, she's still at home."

The younger woman let out the breath she'd been holding. She owed Nick Fury so many baked goods if he'd managed to help smuggle her mother out to her, and not have anyone be the wiser.

"Okay," she murmured aloud, running through the possible pies or cakes he might want as payment in her head. Another, more immediate thought came to the fore of her mind, and her dark brown eyes widened as she focused on Laura again. "Is there a swarm outside? When Grant was born, the reporters found us and tried to—"

The older woman raised a hand, cutting her off. "Nope. Not a soul outside of hospital staff is here, and it will remain that way until you leave."

Yes, she owed Hill and Fury all the baked goods she knew how to make once she and the little ones got home. Glancing back up at Laura, she amended the list to include her, as well.

"Teach me never to underestimate a Barton," she muttered out loud, raking a hand through her drying hair.

"Well put, Rogers," Laura replied, sharing in a chuckle with her. Looking across the room to the hospital bassinet again, to the baby wrapped in the pink blanket, she wondered, "You give her a name, yet?"

Holly dipped her chin. "On the card."

The Barton matriarch made her way over, brushing her palms down the sides of her jeans as she approached. The little one was resting, curled up and away in dreamland after her hard day of being born. The card at the end of the bassinet was stark and clearly filled out.

"Iris Caroline Rogers," Laura read aloud, smiling down at the sleeping baby. "Quite a name for you, little girl."

"Iris is my great-grandma Lydia's middle name, and Caroline was my Grandma Rose's," Holly explained, a soft grin dancing across her lips as she looked upon the bassinet as well. Shrugging a shoulder, she murmured, "Since I picked Grant's first name, Steve picked hers."

The sentiment made Laura grin.

"She's beautiful," the older brunette complimented the child. Holly nodded, the malaise from before threatening to overtake her again, and she sank back against the bed. Looking at her once more, Laura's smile faded, and she straightened her stance. A beat of silence hovered between the two women, and she tucked her hands into her pockets as she focused on a point on the far wall. "When Cooper was born, I had no idea where Clint even was. He'd been deep undercover for some mission for two months by that point, and I didn't know if he even alive still, let alone anything else. I was pregnant, and alone, and had no clue what I would do if he wasn't there. And then, suddenly, I had this little boy to take care of. Then, I was terrified. Terrified, and so happy, too."

Holly swallowed hard at Laura's recitation of the tale. While she knew that Clint was often away from his family for months at a time while he was an active agent and Avenger, she hadn't known that fact about their family.

"Yeah," she replied lamely, an apologetic shrug lifting her shoulders. Laura minutely shook her head, the apology not necessary.

"Clint came home roughly a month after that. I think, anyway; those first days blended together. And I remember wanting to be angry with him, for leaving me alone with a baby and frightened about him, too. But, when I saw him, cuts healing on his face and a large black eye...I could see how happy he was to be there. And how sad he was, too. And I just...I couldn't be mad at him." She paused, coughing once before smirking. "Not too much, at least."

Holly briefly shared the smirk before letting it fade. Her brow furrowed as she let her fingers pick at the blanket, and she sighed heavily.

"I'm not mad at Steve," she professed quietly, the truth beneath the words ringing out. Honestly, she was no longer truly angry with him for choosing to go and do his duty. It was something she'd moved past weeks ago. However, that wasn't to say she didn't feel strongly about his absence. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she whispered, "I'm just afraid he'll never..."

Laura dipped her chin, striding up to the side of the bed and laying her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Yeah. But at least you know what's in store. And you're not alone."

Her palm squeezed gently, and Holly had to force herself to push back another flush of tears. She'd cried far too much that day, and she did not wish to indulge in it any longer.

"Thank you," she croaked, her voice hoarse with emotion and the stress of the day. After a couple minutes of quiet, she flicked her dark gaze to the door, and asked, "Can you, can you get my mom to bring Grant in? I want him to meet his sister before I pass out again."

Grinning, Laura gave her shoulder one last pat before moving away. "Sure."

Holly watched her go, the tiredness in her body shoved down as she anxiously awaited her son's arrival. The ticks of the clock on the wall were starting to eat at her patience just as the door swung open again, revealing her mother as she supported Grant in her arms. He looked just as sleepy as she felt, but he perked up when he saw his mother.

"See?" Lisa told her grandson, bouncing him a bit as she brought him over to the bed and grinning. "There's Mommy, she's fine."

The toddler looked from his grandmother to his mommy, the resemblance to his father evident in the skeptical glances he shot both of them. The pang hit and faded in her heart within seconds, and she determinedly kept her face placid.

"Mama otay?" he asked her directly, bright eyes scanning over her. Holly tipped her head to one side, nodding; despite the dishevelment of her hair and the hasty refastening of her gown after being cleaned up fast, she was alright. For the most part.

"Yeah, Baby Boy. I just had to get your sister here," she told him. Carefully, Lisa set him down beside Holly, the younger woman's arm curling around her boy and bringing him close. As he snuggled into her side, she nodded for her mother to bring the wrapped bundle of her daughter over as well. Within moments, Lisa helped guide Iris to lie in the crook of her mother's free elbow, her weight bolstered by an extra pillow underneath the limb and baby. Grant peered at the wrapped bundle, at the small face under the cap, and then he looked up at Holly again. Rubbing her thumb along his arm, the brunette woman said, "Granty, this is Iris."

Big blue eyes dropped back onto the baby, and his small hand reached out. An admonishment to be gentle came out of his grandmother then, and while it was softened by a smile, he did as he was told. Two fingers tapped at the bottom of the bundle, and the baby wiggled a bit in her sleep.

"'Ris," Grant breathed, giggling when the baby wiggled again. "Her little."

"So were you," Holly declared, a wan smile rising up as she reached up and tapped the end of his nose. "You were this small when you were born."

"No!" the toddler crowed in disbelief, his eyes wide as saucers. Confirming that it was the truth, Holly felt the awe and happiness her little boy radiated fill her, a balm to the cold sorrow deep within. Glancing at his mother, he nodded to the baby. "Kiss?"

Thinking for a moment, Holly agreed that Grant could give his baby sister a kiss. Looping her arm tightly around him, Holly's mother stepped forward to help support the boy as he shuffled and leaned closer to his little sister. A smacking kiss was pressed to her capped head, and he smiled when Iris squirmed and opened her eyes.

"'Ove you," he told her, another kiss pecked on her head. Iris let her eyes follow her brother as he leaned back, her interest lost when he curled his arms around Holly's neck and gave her a peck on the cheek. "'Ove you, Mama."

Closing her eyes, and savoring the weight of her children in her arms, the crack in Holly's heart widened ever-so-slightly, even as she hugged her boy.

"Love you, too, munchkin. Both of you," she sighed, averting her dark gaze from her mother's understanding one, the wish that Steve could have been there surfacing briefly before final good-nights were passed around and May 11th came to a close.

* * *

 **A/N:**...Sorry, guys. Steve didn't make it to his daughter's birth. Although, good for those of you who predicted that Holly would make it out to the Barton farm to hide out! And Laura is bomb in this, no question about it.

Holly definitely owes Nick and Maria a few baked goods for keeping her and her mother's arrival under the radar. Also, yay Lisa Martin making her first appearance in the story!

Time operates differently in space as opposed to how it operates on Earth, so what feels like a few days out there translates to about a month on Terra. Hence why it's now May on the planet, and very little time has passed on Asgard. Or at least, that's my reasoning for this story (it would also explain why Asgardians are thousands of years old, but some don't look a day over thirty).

However long it takes for Thanos and the remaining Avengers to reach Earth, though, remains to be seen...

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	12. Chapter 12

It could have been days since Steve was brought in to meet with his old arch-nemesis, but at the back of his mind, he knew it could only have been a couple of hours. The pain and torment the flayed man intended on giving him was enough to drive all real sense of time out the window. Schmidt had stayed true to his promise to Thanos; he didn't maim the blond man who had been the bane of his existence for the better part of two and a half years. However, that did not mean he was not given anything to work with. Knives cut through skin, fists and blunt objects were cracked into him, and the prod of electricity pushed him back against the slab he'd been chained to.

He grunted, he groaned, but Steve held back on any screams that Schmidt was desperate to pull out of him. He held back long enough to tempt the fellow to the edge, he knew that much; he'd seen the red fury in his eyes, the murder he all but swore he would impart upon him the minute the Titan gave him clearance. It was when he started making the comments atop the cuts and the hits.

The promises to find his wife, his boy. The desire to make them watch him bleed out just when they thought he was safe. The whispered wish to stop just before he died, so that he could watch the Skull slaughter them. The fiendish delight in his features was unchecked, and Steve could no longer keep himself restrained vocally. He did scream then, each words hurled out of him a declaration that Schmidt would never take him or his family, that he would kill him first, and finish the job that time.

The darkness surfaced, flowed out of Steve Rogers, and later on, he wondered if that had been what kept him lucid and upright during that session.

Eventually, the door to the converted lab opened again, the captain of the guard striding in with a contingent of his own and a sour look on his face. To Schmidt, he merely grunted that his time was up, and the Skull sneered in response. Reluctantly, he backed away as the guards came forward, loosening the bonds around the commander's wrists and ankles. The pain and stiffness in his body caused him to slump gracelessly, and two of the Chitauri gripped beneath his arms, dragging him out of the evil man's lair for the time being.

Blue eyes, seemingly unfocused, ranged over the guards as they shuffled him back to the elevator bank he had taken up hours ago. They slid past the creatures, along the walls and the space of the elevator as it brought them back down to the detention level. Scanning over the singular entrance, the few posted beyond the hall the others were waiting in, he blinked against the lights, his footing uncertain as he was dragged back toward his own cell. An intake of breath practically beat against hi eardrum; Gamora had been the first to see him, and the numerous stains on his rent shirt and along his bare skin. And she was not the only one.

"Oh, my God…" Tony murmured, his face draining of color as he watched his friend being hauled into his cell. Steve's tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, and he could not find it in him to respond. Not yet, anyway.

"What?" came the thundering voice of the god, alerting him to Thor's consciousness. As he hovered at the edge of his own, he heard him begin to ask, "What has…"

The question was stalled, and Steve had no doubt he too had come forward to look upon him, to look at the few drips of blood that had fallen as the guards shunted him onto the floor. Dropping down, he groaned as one dared to thump their foot into his stomach, his body screaming as he instinctively curled to protect himself. The assault ended there, though, and the footsteps retreated, the clock of the locking bars cutting harshly through the air.

"We will be back for the next one of you soon," one of them grunted in the common tongue, thumping steps disappearing after a few seconds. Soon enough, the only sounds left were the muttering of his friends and teammates, of those who had seen his physical state passed on to those who could not, and the murmured sympathies expressed to him. His own breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling in a semblance close to how he had to breathe when he was on the verge of an asthma attack.

He had to calm down, and he knew it, before he made himself worse.

"Steve," came another voice, and the commander let out a slow breath. At least Sam was awake, and he didn't sound too worse for the wear. "Steve, are you…can you hear me?"

"Ears…still work fine," he mumbled, rolling onto his back. Attempting to lean up on one elbow, he looked through the bars of his door and caught Tony's disgust and shock. He chuckled morosely, and ground out, "Must look bad, huh? I'd say you should see the other guy, but you wouldn't believe me."

Tony's brow furrowed, and he muttered angrily, "What kind of psychopath did the purple monster throw at you?"

The pain thrummed hard through him, and Steve had to lie back down again. "Like I said, you wouldn't believe me."

The tech genius scoffed aloud, and he could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes.

"Dude, you can't be serious," the man called the Falcon pronounced pointedly. Conceding to the allusion to the truth, Steve felt a slight tremor run down his spine as the twinges of the cuts and bruises pierced him.

"…Schmidt. The Red Skull," he said flatly, the silence following his words speaking volumes. For those who understood the direness of the situation, he relayed, "He survived. Apparently was held by the guy who held one of the other stones."

"Likely the Collector," Nebula retorted from her cell, the explanation coming quickly to her mind. "I saw the holocam of Thanos taking a red-faced creature contained in the back. Likely he kept him for his exhibitions."

"But who is he?" Mantis asked gently then, the calm tone of her voice going a ways to soothing his hurts for a moment. Rogers closed his eyes again, too tired and too much in pain to provide the explanation. Thankfully, Stark chose that moment to tell the truth for him.

"Suffice it to say, in Steve's time, he was the bad guy one of the worst bad guys in history turned to to get his scientific dirty work done. He's responsible for a lot of spilled blood and for engineering the rise of a cult within an evil organization," he stated, the billionaire hooking his head enough so that he and Thor could sort of glimpse one another from their doors. "He was a leader of HYDRA."

The god inhaled rapidly, remembering the foul group as being the ones who had absconded with Loki's scepter years ago, using it to warp Wanda and Pietro, and make all manner of evil things. They had been a plague upon the earth since Rogers had become the captain, going to ground after the second great war and resurfacing only when they made a last desperate bid at survival. It was inadvertently through their efforts (atop Tony's and Bruce's) that Ultron came into being. Him, and the Vision, too.

Steve let out a breath that sounded like both a sardonic chuckle and a wheeze. "And he hasn't aged a day."

Wilson's teeth began to grind for a second or two, and he grumbled, "He's at full strength, then."

"So…this is bad," Mantis breathed, her airy voice taking on a decidedly cold air. Wilson went to the bars of his cell, looking out and to the right at the young female creature. Her dark, wide eyes met his, and he inhaled carefully. She was not stupid, but in the short time he'd known her, he had learned it was best not to beat around the bush with her.

"Thanos has an enhanced super-soldier without the morals, and a god without…" he trailed off, glancing at Thor's cell. The Asgardian raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing, and Sam coughed before continuing. "Well, also without the morals. Both are on his side, along with an extensive armada. If that isn't bad, I don't want to know what your definition of the word is."

"Yeah," Stark murmured, hands looping through the bars and resting his forearms there. He let Wilson's statement settle on them all, the silence nearly deafening after several seconds. Clearing his throat, he pitched his voice low and wondered, "You notice anything, Rogers?"

Deep, labored breaths came from the cell, but no words came from Steve's lips. Instead, after a few moments, tapping resounded. Short, staccato beats interspersed with long, punctuated ones, the rhythm at once familiar and foreign to Tony's ears. The phrase repeated a couple of times before Wilson's sharp intake of breath flowed forth.

"Stark," Sam grunted low from his cell, the younger man meeting his eye and carefully tapping his thumb against the bars. His own phrase flowed, and then the penny dropped for the tech genius. It was code; Steve was employing Morse code to indicate what he had seen and heard during his time away. Though he himself had an understanding of the code (one very long, very boring summer home from boarding school had given him the time, and Jarvis imparted what he knew on the young man before his passing), he was surprised that Sam knew as well. He'd have to ask for the story behind that, since he was fairly certain that not all the soldiers in the armed forces had a use for it, but that was not the time. Exhaling sharply,Tony gave a couple of tiny raps—he told the commander to repeat himself, just one more time. Pointedly, the taps came from Rogers again.

No more than fifteen guards had followed to and from the cells, which indicated that they were the part of the ship that Thanos did not care to regulate as often. Two stood at the elevators, one at the entrance and the other at the beginning of the hall. He had been gone for no more than two hours, and Stark had indicated that the creature patrol switched off every twenty or so minutes. The guards outside had changed since then, which told Rogers that they were on what was likely a two hour to four hour rotation as well. For every Chitauri there was another creature to balance, which they could use to their advantage since it was clear that neither party could be trusted with full observation duties. Wilson tapped in as well, noting that the narrow hall of cells could work against any contingent being sent in.

All they would need was an opening.

Throughout all that, Gamora, Nebula, and Thor were listening raptly, uncertain of what was passing between their comrades. For her part, the green-skinned beauty was getting irritated at the lack of understanding.

"What are—what is going on?" she snapped in a low whisper, shooting a hard look at Tony. The billionaire cleared his throat, removing himself from the conversation in code and meeting her gaze directly.

"Trust us on this, whatever happens," he murmured quietly, arching an eyebrow. Opening her mouth, she saw the serious set of his jaw, the hardness beneath the plea in his irises. Something inside her mind clicked, alerting her to the notion that the humans had devised a way to speak without the others, including Thanos if he were listening in, without their plans being known. Granted, it did limit them, and that meant that they would have to rely on the three fleshy fellows all the more until later, but it was better than nothing.

Nebula, however, was not of the same mind. Her metal fingers on one hand clicked hard as she wrapped them around the bars of her cell door, her irritation plain on her features when her sister glanced over at her.

"Trust you?" the cyborg hissed, blinking against the absurdity of it all. A low huff echoed from down the way, and Gamora ran the flat of her palm over her face. Evidently Mantis was also reaching the end of her patience—which was no easy thing, but it did happen on rare occasion. A preemptive throat clearing cut them all off, and the imprisoned Asgardian down the way sighed.

"We did so for you, when you came to us about Thanos," Thor cut in then, his deep voice rumbling low in his throat as he matched his compatriots in their sincerity. A hand pushed through the small gap in the bars, letting him extend his arm out until caught midway up. Turning out the palm in placation, in supplication, he asked her, "Can you not do the same?"

A scoffing snort ricocheted around the space, and the blue cyborg female's hand clenched even tighter around the bars, but when her eyes opened again, they fell upon her adoptive sister, her own dark gaze resting upon her.

"Nebula," she said, letting a slow exhale out her nose. It wouldn't do them any good to fight what was going on, to rebel against the people who had pledged to fight alongside them. They had enough faith in them to stand beside them in battle; there was no sense not to return it now. But she knew how deep her sister's lack of trust ran, knew how terribly she'd been weakened and broken on the inside. The cold, frosty exterior housed a swirling torrent of insecurity, doubt, and fear of others. All of which resided still in Gamora, deep down. However, she had been able to do something more than let it fester, and it was time for Nebula to know it as well. Raising her chin, she stated, "At some point, you have to."

The blue-skinned female's jaw tightened, but it was clear in her eyes that she would surrender to it. At that point, she likely surmised, she had no other choice.

"…Fine."

The tapping had not paused in the meantime, Wilson and Rogers further cementing the details of the plot. As the blond fellow speculated about the best course of action, he paused, waiting for his friend and fellow soldier to digest what he had expressed. It would be risky, but the key to their plan would be worth it, if they managed to make it work.

On the other side of the wall, he heard Sam sigh, and his fingers tapped hard against the metal panels.

 _They said they are coming for another one of us soon. You are sure?_

Silence followed briefly, before taps came in the affirmative. Steve had an idea, one that was simple but would take time.

 _We take the captain, we can get out,_ he said through his rapping. The guard rotation would no doubt include the head creature whom Thanos had turned to on their way to the ship, the one that was used as an intermediary. With Thanos' level of pride and suspicion, he would not fully trust the creature to remain by his side. He'd have to be reminded that he was under the Titan's thumb, and putting him down for basic guard duty would do that. Twitching his shoulders and hissing in pain, Steve screwed his eyes shut and tapped again. _Just have to wait for the right moment. And they are bluffing. He will not send one of you._

 _Why?_ Sam wondered. If the demented fellow who brought HYDRA up in the forties was intent on exorcizing his rage, it was unlikely he would stop at one person. However, Steve's answering taps made him freeze.

 _Skull only cares about harming me. None of you matter, when he knows what it would do to me._

In his cell, Steve could feel all the bruises and cuts on his body, the dried blood itching along his skin. Though the Skull hit hard, he cut light; the cuts were light enough so that there would be no physical scarring, but hard enough to inflict pain. And many of them were inflicted. A good majority of them were on their way to healing, the bruises twinging as they started to fade. Once he was nearly healed, he did not doubt that he would be taken again, the process to be repeated as Schmidt let out over seventy years of repressed anguish and fury. A light shudder ran down his spine, and he hissed again. He was not afraid of Schmidt, that was true.

Torture, though, was entirely different.

On the other side of the wall, he could hear Sam's boots as he paced through the small space of his cell, the soft intake of breath and the creak of his bunk when he sat again. Thinking that was the end of the matter, Steve caught another set of raps from the across the way.

 _Right moment,_ Stark's fingers spoke for him, and Rogers started to nod, wincing as he forced himself to stop. Carefully, he lifted his hand one more time, and gave him the assurance that they all needed, including himself.

 _Soon._

 **xXxXxXx**

The arrival of the golden-skinned fellow had caused something of a disturbance, as the Asgardians feared another attack so soon after the first, but once the Lady Sif had sent down reassurances that there was no such thing on the horizon, the fear and sorrow within the palace had calmed. Once it was clear for them to do so, she and the Warriors Three led the newly-arrived creature inside, the Avengers closing up around him and the Guardians of the Galaxy at the rear. Bringing him into the nearest meeting room, he sat where he was bade, his golden hands folding into his lap. Staring at the ring of curious, almost hostile faces, he cleared his throat and asked politely for water, obliged when courtesy demanded that the Asgardians in the room do so. Once he'd had a goblet filled with the stuff, one of the human males—whom he identified as Peter Quill—demanded he explain himself better than he had on the landing platform.

Adam had been born on a distant planet, among golden beings and bright lights. He'd been raised in their way of live, though he had no true childhood. In fact, he'd been engineered to be born as a fully-grown male. Some cycles had passed since his first days, but the universe was all at once new to him, and yet old as well. Before long, he'd broken with the people he'd lived among those times, intent on finding his course among the stars. His message was a part of that course, he ventured, and he was eager to meet the challenge it provided.

"So…you're a runaway Sovereign," Rocket said after a few minutes, summing up the fellow's explanation as succinctly as possible. A slight wince decorated his features as he spoke, but the furry creature would never allow it to register, even in his own mind. Instead, he waited with the others as the one called Adam took a long sip from the goblet he'd been provided, his mouth curving almost sardonically.

"Something like," the golden-skinned fellow retorted. He motioned towards himself, to the dull bronze his tone had shifted to once out of direct sunlight, and he continued, "My appearance, at least, was engineered with that race in mind. My conception was not traditional, and was brought on by deep-seated fear and anger, among other things."

About to make a joke about how sometimes that was par for the course for some conception stories, Rocket was hushed when a hand cracked against the back of his skull. Groaning and rubbing his wound, he bared his teeth at Peter, who shrugged in the barest apology.

"I take it you were told about—" Quill started, motioning to himself and the remaining Guardians of the Galaxy, and was rewarded with Adam's single nod.

"Yes, Star-lord. I know about your pet's theft of the batteries," he said, the curve to his grin a bit more pronounced when Rocket grumbled a few choice words under his breath. However, his smile fell as he looked down at the hands he'd folded in his lap, his tone turning somber. "More importantly, I learned of what happened afterward. I am sorry."

Peter, Rocket, and Drax all adopted levels of melancholy upon their faces. The human male felt the twinge in his heart at the loss of Yondu, still sticking at him several cycles on.

The Lady Sif shared a glance with her three warrior companions, and cut in. "Even so, your arrival is…not well-timed."

Adam brought his golden gaze up, and he lifted a shoulder. "I doubt a stranger's arrival after a battle is ever truly welcome. Even if he brings a contingent to aid you in the future."

The remaining humans murmured at that, and the one dressed in blue robes and a brilliant cloak came forward, strands of his black locks drooping over his brow.

"You mentioned something about that before. Who are you talking about?" the fellow, a doctor of some sort, inquired. Adam discreetly adjusted his own jacket, the flamed patch upon his chest easier to see in that moment. Quill's eyes widened significantly as his gaze fixed upon it, and the golden-skinned fellow nodded to him.

"You know," he said, a few notches above a whisper, and the one called Star-lord inhaled sharply.

"The Ravagers," Peter murmured, the disbelief strong in his tone. With hand on his hips, he furrowed his brow at the fellow. "How the hell did you convince them to take you in, or even believe you in the first place?"

Adam smirked, the humor not reaching his irises.

"A display of skills does not go awry. Particularly when they attempt to corner you and force you to their will." It was after his escape from the Sovereign's home, when he struck out on his own in the galaxy. One too many wrong turns and twists had landed him on a planetary backwater, his own mistaken searching landing him in the midst of one of the clan's contracted jobs. "Once I bested their heartiest fighters, they were willing to listen. Their leader was far more open to it after that."

One of the human females, the one attired in swirling scarlet and her green eyes flashing almost dangerously, had reached the end of her patience. Striding forward, she met his gaze boldly, her tongue tripping over the questions the others had yet to ask.

"How did you find us? Find out about this?" She swept a hand out, the gesture encompassing the whole of Asgard and the evidence of battle just beyond the palace walls. Adam stood then, raking a hand back through his shining hair as his jaw clenched and tensed.

"Thanos has been pillaging and murdering across the galaxy. Do you think something like that fails to get noticed?" he posed rhetorically, bracing his forearms on the back of the chair he'd vacated. Sliding his palms down and gripping it tightly, his gaze grew distant, seeing all the horrors the Titan had wrought as if he had just stumbled across them mere minutes ago. "Whole settlements laid waste, for the sake of sacred stones. That garners attention, from all corners. The Ravagers have had terrible run-ins with him over the last several cycles, and have started to keep tabs on him, trading goods with those left in his wake."

Rocket scoffed audibly at that, his arms crossing.

"Why should they care?" he snapped, catching the looks the others were giving him. Shrugging, he pointed out, "All clans of the Ravagers are just that: ravagers. They steal, pillage, do a lot of bad things."

Eyes moved onto Adam, daring him to admit to the truth of the creature's words, and he sighed.

"Yes," he said, unwilling to sweeten it for them. Still, he looked to them all, the code he'd been living under for the last few cycles coming to the fore of his mind. As he spoke, he caught the glare and distrust in Quill's gaze, and he had to force himself to continue. The human had run afoul of the clans, but he reckoned that had to do more with his upbringing by the one who broke the code than the actual Ravagers. "But they understand the sanctity of the being, at his or her core. They do not trade in life, though they will fight and kill those who try to do so, or to take their own. And Thanos has gone after them, too. He heard tell of the Ravagers being hired to take one of the stones, and he nearly killed the head of the first clan."

"Stakar Ogord," Peter grunted, shaking his head. "Well, that makes more sense. Revenge seems more likely than justice in this."

Adam inclined his chin, a mischievous gleam entering his bright eyes. "I may have also secured contracts with several other leaders of planets beyond this system to further entice them before coming here. Thanos threatens all, including payment."

"And being approached by a Sovereign likely sweetened the pot for some," Quill remarked drily. Off the quizzical looks being directed at him, he explained, "The Sovereign generally don't give a rat's ass about anything besides their own home, so for one to go to others to take work can be seen as something they can lord over them."

From her place beside the captain, the redhead called Romanoff snorted. "Sounds like a pleasant bunch."

"Self-righteous, to the last, including..." Adam paused, shaking his head and closing his eyes, the memories rising being forced back down. Quill had spoken truly: the Sovereign, in their superiority, cared nothing for the outer realms, for the universe beyond their doorstep. They were the race to which all others should be held up to, and they imparted that knowledge whenever given the chance. Too good for the dirty work, too good to mix with the lesser forms save for when they could serve the golden race...it all disgusted him as he grew, as he realized how backwards it truly was. "They are wrong to feel that way. I could see it when I was among them. I had to leave for many reasons, including that one."

His mouth closed, and he focused upon the middle distance, unwilling to explain his own desires at the moment. The dreams, the surges below the surface...the ones that bade him to act one way and then another, of being among the chosen when he knew himself to be no more than any other creature in the universe...the screams, the terror...it all warred deep within him, all of it starting from the moment he stepped out of his cocoon and was taken up by the one he ceased to think of as mother.

It was far too much to tell, and so he would not.

Rather, in the silence that followed, that granted the male human with the sandy hair and the bow in hand to raise a question of his own.

"And you knew to come here, how?"

Drawn out of his reverie, Adam sighed once more.

"Again, obvious facts. The Crown Prince of Asgard appearing halfway across the cosmos in the company of an assassin android to find the Guardians? Once the scout keeping tabs on you got back to us all, we followed."

Drax and Rocket groaned, and Peter scrubbed his hands over his face at the announcement, the others taking it in stride.

"You know what? I don't care how we were tailed, I don't care by who. I only care about what we're gonna do," he stated plainly, hand falling to his sides and then spreading. Looking to the others gathered in the room, he wondered, "Thanos is on his way to Earth now; what's the plan there?"

The human male with the wide, painted shield on his arm pulled the masked cowl off his head, letting it fall back as he began to think aloud.

"Someone like him would anticipate a resistance, but only from those who he knows will fight back. Since he thinks we can't return in time, he won't anticipate the regular people on Earth standing up to him. Not for long." Pausing in the pacing he'd begun, he whirled to face his fellows, each group nodded to as a pan began to formulate. "We need to get back, and tell the world what is going on. Rhodey is still there, he can work his influence in with some of the higher-ups. Hawley can get the United Nations up and ready, too; she's likely waiting for this."

The foreign names rebounded in Adam's mind, but given the placidity of the human's features, he had to assume those who were mentioned were allies, and so he made no objections. Neither did the Guardians, though the furry one and the veiny one did cast sharp looks to the human male (the one that resembled tree roots was scuffing his toe along the floor, listening but no doubt bored with the by the lack of action).

"Chapman's team is waiting, and ready," the doctor in the cape supplied quietly, one dark brow quirking up. Sharing a fast look with the one called captain, the blue-eyed fellow lifted his chin and gestured to those who had circled near him.

"We'll go ahead, with Doctor Strange," he said. Pointing to the human Guardian of the Galaxy, he commanded, "Peter, you and your crew can meet up with the Ravagers along with Adam. Give 'em the story, and follow behind. We need support from them to take on the armada, since it's unlikely they'll land until victory is assured."

Concurring on that point, the contingent broke into its separate factions. Those who had called themselves Avengers exited the room swiftly, farewells and thank-yous passed between them and the remaining Asgardians. Prior to the golden-skinned creature's arrival, it had been agreed that Sif and the Warriors Three, along with the Valkyrie, would remain on Asgard, rebuilding its life and defenses. As what looked like a hole being torn through the fabric of the air opened, the humans sent on final farewells. Soon, it was only the Guardians of the Galaxy in the room with the Warriors Three and Sif, the one called Star-lord speculating that they could be off-planet within the hour, once final supplies were loaded.

In the midst of the milling and the brief confusion, though, they overlooked one small detail.

"Where's Adam?" Fandral wondered, his sharp eyes darting around the room. Ever since the others had concurred upon the battle plan, the creature had found an opening to slip away for a moment. He had yet to return, and that made all of them nervous. Sharing a fast glance, the Asgardians and the remaining Guardians raced out of the room, searching the halls of the palace in an effort to locate the lost Sovereign-esque fellow. Dead-ends were hit, but soon enough a guard from the catacombs was racing up to find them, imparting the news that the stranger in red and gold had descended below, his steps taking him to Heimdall's resting place.

"What are you doing?!" Sif cried, frozen in horror as Adam continued to approach the body of her fallen friend. Jogging forward, the Warriors Three grasped at his arms, heels digging into place to stop him from getting any closer. The mesmerized look on his face was disturbing, the drop of his jaw and the wideness of his eyes speaking of far more than morbid curiosity bringing him to the place.

There was purpose in his form, though it was clear that he did not fully understand it.

"I can't, I must…it's calling to me," the golden-skinned creature announced, the fear and awe in his voice competing within. Despite the hold of three Asgardians, he was still moving towards the fallen warrior, pulling them along with him. Sif glanced at Quill and the others, all of them rushing and grappling with the creature to get him to stop. No effort of strength on their part halted him, no tugs or holds could induce him to pause. Gritting his teeth, he cried out as he drew on some deep inner power, flinging his arms out and dislodging the hands hooked into his sleeves. Twisting and wrenching his body, he flung off the remaining warriors like they were refuse clinging to his clothes, dashing them to the ground and away from him. His focus stayed upon Heimdall's lifeless form, his golden eyes set fiercely there as the force that had drawn out of the palace beckoned him onward.

He could not explain the why or the how, only that he knew he must heed the call.

"I must…" he crowed, a palm turned out as he stepped up to the pyre, laying it upon the brown of the deceased Asgardian. Shocked silence gathered around them as Adam tipped his head back, and the barest whimper echoed in his throat.

And then...it happened.

Blinding, brilliant light filled the room spiraling up from Heimdall's body and illuminating the enclosed space. Wind rushed and tore through, whistling loudly as it barreled down the halls and shoved them all to the side. All but Adam, that was. He was lifted up, the light and the wind surged around him as the source of the light rose up from the fallen Asgardian. In the midst of it all, glinting and gleaming, was a roundish object, orange and glowing as it surged forward and implanted upon the creature's head. Crying out, Adam arched his back and spread his limbs, light and wind building ever-more as the seconds passed.

And then suddenly, all at once, the light and the wind died away. Sif and the Warriors Three fell to the ground, Quill and the remaining Guardians doing so as well. The torches on the walls sputtered and spat, but the flames remained despite the earlier onslaught. Heimdall's body on the pyre had remained unmoved, though it had seemed to deflate all the more in those moments.

Adam, though, had not remained untouched. His Ravager's coat had been shred at the sleeves, the materials falling away and the flaming patch upon the floor. His midnight colored tunic sleeves stuck out, lending him an almost princely air. His skin glowed brighter, his hair untamed and his shoulders rising with deep, intense breaths.

Without turning around, the creature murmured, "I thought Asgard had only housed one stone."

Sif swallowed hard, and she dipped her chin. "It did."

A slow, long sigh was blown out of Adam's mouth, his shoulders tensing slightly as he continued to face away from them.

"That's not correct. Your guardian here, he held the other."

The crackle of the torches pervaded the silence that followed, those gathered around in the catacombs looking to one another. The last two stones were upon the earth, the others in Thanos' care...except for...

"The missing one?" Peter murmured, the speculations of his friend and her sister returning to his mind then. The words cracked through the air, impacting upon his companions as realization dawned. The supposed lost stone had been there all along, hidden within the realm. Hidden as part of the Asgardian who could see to other worlds, see the souls there and what they had done, and how they connected to one another.

Suddenly, Heimdall's abilities started to make more sense in Sif's mind, his past before his service to Odin always something of a mystery to them. Perhaps he had been born into the role, or perhaps he had been gifted with it, but either way, he'd been a guardian of an Infinity Stone, and none of them had been the wiser.

Now, though, he could no longer claim that title. And the golden-skinned creature turned then, the gem at the center of his forehead and his eyes glowing an ethereal, pale color.

"And it's chosen me," Adam said, his tone rumbling with distant thunder, the universe on the brink of alteration once again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Back to Thanos' ship and Asgard, though we will soon be approaching Earth from all sides again!

I like the idea of the captured Avengers looking to formulate a rebellion/escape using Morse code.

Also, thanks to the one reader/reviewer who postulated the idea that Heimdall could very well be a bearer of an Infinity Stone. I had thought about the possibility of making him so, and I ran down a different path with it. So thank you for your aid.

Thank you all for your aid, really. I honestly wouldn't get very far without you guys. And speaking of which, how are all of you? I know a bunch of you are busy, but I do hope you are well. Some of you are neck-deep in midterms and the like, and I want you to know I wish you the best. Same to those not in midterms. :)

If anybody is curious as to who I have pictured in my head for Adam Warlock...it's a certain other Chris in Hollywood land. ;)

No Holly, Grant, or Iris in this one, but we'll get back to them soon. After all, the home-front is on the edge of battle now...

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	13. Chapter 13

With the Soul Stone, as Adam called it, having chosen its newest bearer, it was not difficult to reason that the initial plans made would have to be altered somewhat. With the Avengers now off-world and out of contact, they could not be told, but the incoming Ravagers would need to be made aware of the changed status of one of their allies. That, and how he would be engaging far more directly than he'd once thought. The Sovereign's thought was that, even with three stones at his command, Thanos would always be susceptible if even one of them remained out of his reach. With at least two turned against him, the chances in their favor had climbed higher.

That in mind, the creature made his way to the head ship of the fleet, to apprise the contingent of the situation and to proceed from there. Ultimately, the remaining Guardians of the Galaxy would lead the way to the earth, but the battle plan would have to allow Adam to eventually get close enough to tackle Thanos head-on. It wasn't brilliant, or terribly difficult, but it would still be fraught with danger and possible mischance.

None of which sat right with Peter when they finally departed Asgard, the holds filled and Sif saluting them as the _Milano_ rose up, blasting through the atmosphere and out into the dark recesses of space. The planet would be in her capable hands, hers and the Warriors Three, until the last of the mess was cleaned up.

The air in the M-ship was riddled with tension, from captain to root creature, as the consoles beeped and Adam provided updates as they progressed from his own ship. The Ravagers had yet to truly speak with the one they called deserter, to acknowledge Quill and his own change in status, but neither were they abandoning them to their fate. It was a terse silence that had Groot sitting quietly on the far bench, his handheld game all but ignored as they went. Drax had taken to pacing in between jumps, alternately muttering under his breath about the time it was taking and his musings about how Mantis would be adapting to such a hostile environment, what with her empathic abilities. Typically, his fixations would garner some attention (and some ribbing), but none aboard were of a mind to do so.

Not event the raccoon-like creature riding shotgun could bring himself to tease the bigger fellow. Instead, his concern lay with the human at the helm, the rigid posture forcing his form upright while his bright eyes stared dimly at the displays. No music was playing, even; the Zune that had been gifted to Peter was off and tucked away.

That, more than anything else, worried Rocket, and he couldn't bring himself to keep his mouth shut after awhile.

"You alright, Quill?" Rocket asked, his black eyes darting from the glass to the human and back again. Nothing was in their flight path, but Peter was looking out the cockpit like they were staring down a battalion of Kree, or as if Ego had appeared on an asteroid as they passed. At the question, the human male snapped his head around, weariness and irritation lining his features.

"Y'know, I'm getting pretty tired of people asking me that question," he groused, veritably glaring down at his friend. From the moment Nebula had arrived, had dropped the big one on them about Thanos and the end of the universe, the end of Earth, he had been asked whether he would be alright. He didn't like how easily his discomfort was read, and he definitely didn't like his competence in maintaining his composure being questioned. Turning to face the front shield again, he growled, "I'm fine, just fine."

Rocket tilted his head, a snort poorly disguised as a cough shooting out of him then.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he remarked, idly marking how wound up Quill was getting.

"I am," Peter countered, shoulders hunching further and his jaw tensing. "Freaking peachy."

"Okay," Rocket bit back, the pair of them stewing in the leftover silence and watching the distant stars streaking past the ship for several minutes. Shrugging one of his shoulders, he leaned forward and flicked a switch, muttering, "Just saying, there are plenty of reasons to not be fine. I mean, we're heading to Terra. Which you've mentioned not ever wanting to go to again multiple times."

"There is also the matter of working with the clans that have ultimately rejected you in the past, and tried to hunt you down," Drax cut in then, casting a look at the furry creature in the copilot's chair and shooting a—shockingly enough—masterful wink to him, despite the lack of amusement in his features.

"I am Groot," came the deepening voice of the treelike creature, a low tremor of laughter under his words defying the seriousness of the situation. Rocket glanced over his shoulder at him, nodding sagely.

"Right, can't forget about Gamora and Mantis taken hostage by the psychopath. Although—"

Quill let out a ragged groan, the end of his patience finally reached.

"Okay, fine, I'm really not okay!" he cried, the palms of his hands coming up and dragging down over his face. Rocket sank back into his seat, an air of smugness floating around him as Peter hunched forward and ducked his head slightly.

"Thought so," the raccoon-looking creature stated, another huff of breath snapped out of the human male in response. The behemoth that had been pacing the cabin came up behind his seat, clapping a hand on his furry shoulder.

"Good job getting the truth out of him," he praised Rocket, though the smaller Guardian still could not tell if he was being genuine or if he'd finally gotten the hang of sarcasm. Wheezing, nervous chuckles rebounded from further in, Groot's humor unable to be contained any longer.

"Just...do me a favor, and shut up. All of you," Peter begged, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. He didn't want to think about it, did not want to talk about it all. The summons, the arrival at Asgard, the threat to the place he knew he could never call home again...his mother's home...Gamora taken, and Mantis abducted...it was a heavy load to carry, and he could not put it down. Not that time. They were the Guardians of the Galaxy, for crying out loud. They were supposed to have been better than this. And they were...when they were not facing a hostile force with enough power to rip through worlds and tear the seams of the universe apart, if he got his way.

This was far beyond protection and battery theft, past the recovery and distribution of arcane artifacts. This was battles and war, and...nothing that he had ever expected for his life. There was everything to gain, and everything to lose.

The console before him chirped, and he let out a low sigh.

Tapping at the display, he sat straighter, nodding to the fast-approaching bridge and gap. "Hold on, we're near the next jump."

The ship quivered as they approached the gap, leaping through it in the space of seconds. One step closer to their destination, hopefully only a step or two behind Thanos himself. They would see...they would all see, he reminded himself as Adam sent the obligatory message that the fleet was behind them, as he had with every jump they took.

Under the distant hum of the engines, and the stir and whirs of the consoles, Rocket spoke again, his voice lower still.

"We'll get this figured out," he said, his black eyes on the glass and his chin raised. Peter flicked his gaze over to him, and the creature dipped his head confidently. "It's our job."

"If we don't..." Peter trailed off, his voice so soft he did not think Rocket could even hear him. But the creature had, and he vehemently shook his head.

"We will. We all will," he promised, the usual layer of sardonic, self-serving satisfaction bleeding away in the face of it. He could turn it all into a joke, into a farce, but even he knew better than to do that then. The ghost of Yondu, his voice calling out to him to not take the path he'd taken, remained ever-present in his mind, and he did his best to counter his initial urges. That time, it wasn't so tough to do so. Glancing back at Quill, he did amend his statement somewhat. "Even if it means doing things we'd never imagined doing."

Heavy footsteps came up behind his chair, leaning over it conspiratorially.

"An understatement, yeah?" Drax asked in a low tone, flicking a glance at Quill as he left the cockpit. The raccoon-like creature looked back as well, a grimace decorating his muzzle.

"Yeah," he replied, letting a slow breath crawl out of his nose. Returning to the planet the human called Earth was not going to okay, or peachy, given the circumstances, but they would find a way past it. They were the Guardians of the Galaxy, and more importantly, they'd become the guardians of each other. They would work, and help save Terra. And watch out for each other, as always.

Just a few more jumps to go until then.

 **xXxXxXx**

On Earth, things were not faring much better, as far as tensions went.

Upon their arrival back on the planet (once those who had suffered the negative effects of portal travel had sufficiently regained their faculties), the Avengers had retreated to the base. Maria Hill's surprised greetings were cut off by demands to get everyone necessary on the line at the earliest possible moment. A general call was issued to the agents of the base, requiring them to stay within a ten-mile radius of the property for the next twenty-four hours. Though it would inconvenience those with families, the call was met with alacrity.

Within a few hours, the team assembled in one of the upper conference rooms, Lang and the Vision rejoining their colleagues after a month's separation. Hill sat in as well, establishing the connections between them, the secondary team, and both field directors. Representative Hawley was contacted, for obvious reasons, and so too was T'Challa, breaking from his duties as King of Wakanda and donning the role of Avenger in that instant.

Once all were there, Bucky took it upon himself to summarize what had happened in the weeks they had been away. The battle on Asgard, the strength of Thanos and his host, nothing was left out. When he told of the apprehension of certain team members, muffled curses and gasps echoed from the cameras, but he held strong. They needed to know, needed to see how they were now in line for attack. A contingent of various races would be coming hot on their heels to help, but there was no guarantee they would get there before the first wave of attacks.

His throat was dry and his breathing was heavy by the time he concluded his speech, the silence following his words so heavy it felt as though it were about to suffocate him.

"They are on their way, then? The newest alien threat?" Hawley said, rhetorically stating the facts. A dull expression was on her face, but Bucky could see the horror it was covering.

Dipping his chin, he reaffirmed, "Could be a matter of weeks, or even just days, but yes, they're coming."

Another bout of quiet came, and then Nick Fury let out a sharp breath.

"We're better prepared than the last time this happened, at least," he grumbled, his good eye flicking up to a corner of his screen. Barnes had to assume that was where Hawley's camera had been positioned, given how she gave a small frown at his words. Before it could spark a further argument, T'Challa took the chance to cut in, then.

"What do you need from us, Captain?" he asked, his deep, cultured voice resonating across the lines.

Barnes glanced around the screens, then to the remaining team members. A part of him still instinctively insisted that the title would never belong to him, not truly, and that the one who honestly deserved it was unable to do anything about it at the moment. Inhaling deeply, he braced his hands along the table's edge, willing the jumping nerves to settle as he spoke.

"We need all hands on deck for this one. All active and reserve members should be brought to the base as soon as possible, for rapid departure once he comes." He glanced to the camera revealing the members of the secondary team, spying Chapman's spiking eyebrow, and he inclined his chin. "Strange has offered his...services, to expedite their travel times."

"So we avoid airfare costs. Fantastic," Joe retorted, the smirk on his lips no holding an ounce of humor. Pietro, to his left, grimaced, but otherwise kept his mouth shut, along with the rest of the team. Barnes was not finished laying out the plan, and so they kept quiet as he talked.

"All military branches not already active must be on alert and ready to fight, worldwide," Bucky continued. Quill had spotted an armada, and were they to touch down on the planet, the humans of the world had to have even the smallest amount of reserves ready to resist. Lastly, he flicked his gaze back at the camera containing Hawley, the final point delivered. "And the public should know what's coming."

After all, with all the mobilization and prep they would undergo, it would be impossible to keep the public ignorant of what was going on. And rather than let rumors run wild, it would be best to have the truth revealed to all. That way, every person could prepare.

Hawley inclined her head, agreeing, but her lips thinned as she considered something else. Before she could speak, Chapman piped up, his arms crossing and his bright eyes focusing on a point off-screen.

"Our detractors will be ready to mount an offense in the time it takes to get things ready," he iterated carefully, significance coming into his irises. The primary team exchanged glances at that, unable to refute the truth. Though the general consensus was that the Avengers were a positive and necessary force for the world, they still had a number of opponents who would gladly see them scrapped and disbanded (with extreme prejudice, in certain cases).

Doctor Strange, from his spot along the wall, clicked his tongue and replied, "They can come after us all they want. But to do so will mean jeopardizing the safety of the planet. Of themselves. Even they can't be foolish enough to risk that."

Blinking at his blatant inclusion, at his insinuation that he was a part of the team now as much as anyone, Barnes inclined his head, not willing to refute the points he brought to light. Coulson passed his good hand over his thinning hair, the strain in his person evident.

"Some may encourage a strong ballistic deterrent," he intoned, sparking a flood of ice to course down the new captain's veins. As had been mentioned before, the previous alien attack on the planet had sparked some...interesting...responses. One of which had been a nuclear warhead that had been sent to blow up Manhattan in an effort to stem the bloodshed. It would have been a definitive, if temporary, solution. However, that wasn't to say it wouldn't be the wished-for solution again, particularly if it was backed by certain Avengers-hating advocates.

Natasha, though, was quick to point out the concerns that would be foremost in the advocates' minds.

"Which, again, is far more detrimental to themselves than to our enemies," she said, arching an eyebrow. If nothing else, those in power would want to remain alive to exert that power, and if they went for the higher option, they wouldn't have it. Crossing her arms, she let out a slow breath. "Thanos is already in possession of three stones. We can't allow him the chance of snatching up the remaining ones."

"We have to stand," Scott murmured then, the unusual quietness that had been hanging around him dissipating in that instant. The gravity of it sat with them all, Wanda nodding with his assessment before her fingers threaded with the Vision's. Hawley carefully patted the loose strands of her hair, inclining her chin and sitting up straight in her chair. For all the burdens placed upon her shoulders, she was holding up the weight remarkably well.

"I'll begin preparing the address," she said softly, fetching up her reading glasses and perching them on her nose. "Coulson, Fury, are your own troops prepared?"

Coulson nodded sharply. "We're en-route to the base as we speak."

"Making a sharp turn, but we'll be there," Fury remarked, all business in his tone.

Barnes inhaled deeply once more before turning to the final screen on the wall. Colonel Rhodes, despite his retirement status, had also been let in on the call. There was no denying that, while he was no longer active, he was given a tremendous amount of respect by various members of all branches of the military, both for his work on their field and with the Avengers. Even if he did not carry the mantle of War Machine, he was far too important to leave out of the conversation.

Far too important, and far too influential. And it was on that thought that Barnes found the ability to voice his question to him, his plea.

"Rhodes do you think you can...?"

Rhodey held up a hand then, breaking off his train of thought with a nod.

"Secretary of Defense is on my speed-dial. Golf buddy, though for me it's more driving the cart and afternoon cocktails. I'll be taken into the Pentagon to brief them shortly after that, without a doubt."

Maria cleared her throat, pitching in her own suggestion. "We have to get the Defenders, too. The world has to take precedence over the city."

That caused the captain to crack a wry grin, though it did not last. "I would think so, yeah."

Going forward with the plans made, those who had been online disconnected, each set to go about their own tasks. The remaining team members were about to do so as well, when another voice came through then.

"What shall I do?" the Vision inquired, his electric blue eyes darting to each of them. It had been decided, and agreed upon by him, that when the others left for Asgard he would stay behind. However, that had been when they were certain about mounting a formidable defense against the Titan light-years away from the Earth. He could calculate the new risks as well as anyone else (better, actually), but he had to know which calculations would be coming into play. Squaring his shoulders, his gaze focused on Bucky, on his field leader, and he wondered, "Should I be hidden away, in case..."

He trailed off, away of his compatriots' eyes honing in on him then. The heat sensors in his hand reacted in his mind, and he felt the pressure of Wanda's fingers squeezing in solidarity. She, for one, would like to help him in whatever way she could, even if that meant bundling him away. But it wasn't up to her to decide what to do with him.

Barnes chewed his lip for a second or two, his hands going onto his hips as he met the android's gaze fully.

"Viz, at this rate, whether you stay or go...he's coming. It's up to you," he proclaimed, leaving the final decision to the android's discretion. Either option had its pitfalls, had its advantages, but ultimately, it would be the Vision's call. Tilting his head to the left, he continued, "But, for the record...it wouldn't be bad to have you at our backs, use what you were given against him."

Nods ringed around him, then, the team not wishing to separate more than they had to, now that a few of their members had been taken. The Vision was strong, perhaps strong enough to work against the stones already in the Titan's possession. And if they worked together, they could be able to see it through.

"We need you," the auburn-haired woman at the Vision's side whispered, her green eyes blinking hard when he looked down at her. Getting his fill of the sight of her (he had missed her terribly in those weeks apart, the novel sensation of the feeling not one he wished to endure again), the Vision eventually nodded.

"Very well," he said, stepping forward to join the rest of his teammates and friends in outlining potential defense strategies. Bucky, sidling up to Natasha, opened his mouth to say something when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. Identifying the limb to belong to a friend, he stepped away from his girl, meeting the gaze of the one who she could confidently name as her surrogate brother. Clint Barton motioned for him to step further away from the crowd, the low chatter enough to drown out his hushed question.

"Should we...impart certain information to some people?"

Bucky looked at him then, his jaw stiffening and his expression grim. Guilt bloomed in his irises, and his jaw ticked. As they had been waiting for the other calls to connect, the team had been apprised of the routine visit Hawley had made a couple of weeks back. Along with her had come Ross, the ever-present thorn in their sides. However, that was not all. Reports had been secreted to them both about the senator's own inquiries, his intentions of seeking information of their whereabouts and details of their mission from other sources. If he'd gotten his way, he'd have detained the loved ones of the team. The prime targets of the purported investigation would have been Pepper and Holly. Luckily, Pepper had too many layers to go through to even attempt it, and Holly had managed to make a quick escape before the senator's arrival, her location still under wraps. Sam's girlfriend, and even Chapman's, had to be beyond reach as well.

It pained him as he thought of them all, thought of the choice he'd come to in that moment.

"It has to wait," he pronounced softly, the decision made. Catching the dark look shot at him and Clint's growing indignation on their behalf, he caught the other man at the elbow, drawing him out of the room and out of earshot. When the other man arched an eyebrow at him, he dropped his grip and raked a hand back through his hair. "Barton, trust me, I don't want to get on the shit lists with either of them, but right now, letting either Holly or Stark's wife know that their husbands have been taken...what good would that do them at this moment? Especially since Holly's probably had the baby by now."

Barnes was well aware of the fact that if not Pepper, then Holly would rip him a new one for keeping the truth about the hostage status of the others. And then Sam's girl would likely pound him into the ground with her enhanced strength. But, at that moment, it was imperative to complete the mission, to ready the world for the incoming enemy and concentrate on keeping everyone else ready and alive.

"We have to get to work, so that we can protect the world and get them back. All of them."

Silence was suspended between them, unflinching sternness meeting rocky solemnity. And then, the sandy-haired man barely dipped his chin, his frown deepening.

"I'm giving it a week," Clint remarked, the coldness in his gaze barely thawing. His years in espionage had taught him the necessity of withholding certain pieces of information. However, after his time out, his time involved the outer world, he could no longer abide by those rules. And he couldn't allow those who were prone to suffer the most from the lack of information to do so for long. His mind drifted to his own wife, the stress and strain that had been evident in her eyes despite how she welcomed him home every time. Not knowing was undoubtedly worse, and he would not be the guy who was responsible for that, not anymore. "Thanos doesn't show up by then, we have to let them know."

After a second or two, Bucky inclined his head, conceding to the counter.

"Alright," he agreed aloud, the two men sharing another steely glance before turning and walking back towards the center of the room, more plans to be approved or denied within the coming days.

 **xXxXxXx**

The first pale pink streaks of dawn colored the horizon, another day breaking. The small neighborhood in Queens, the street lined with houses, was stirring slowly, most of the inhabitants still asleep.

Most, but not all.

Peter Parker crept out his bedroom door, one hand on the door knob and the other hanging onto a stuffed duffel bag. He exhaled silently through his nose as he closed the door, the soft click of the latch making him pause and wait. It was crucial for him to exit the house within the next hour, to make it to the Tower.

Ever since the general call was made the day prior (his phone hacked by Ms. Hill and connecting him to the Defenders as well), he had debated for a long while about what he wished to do. As he was still at trainee status, it was not a requirement for him to meet up with the rest of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. In fact, it was politely implied (by Representative Hawley, who was always the advocate for him staying on the sidelines until the proper time) that he should spend his days watching after his aunt, at home. He'd just graduated from high school last week, and would need to start gearing up for his college courses, should the team be the victors. Otherwise, he'd have to prepare for the worst.

They had to have known, Bucky and Hawley and everyone else, that he was not going to sit idly by and watch the world go to ruin. He'd gone to bed early the night before, but rather than sleep, he plotted the fastest route to the base, checking on the status of the nearest quinjet and when it would be arriving for supply drop-off at the Tower. The next crew would arrive in Manhattan at roughly ten o'clock, and would be returning to home base as soon as things were squared away. With the access given to him earlier, he would be able to ride along.

All that would remain would be explaining himself to his superiors, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He tread lightly down the stairs, his enhanced powers enabling him to move almost silently to the landing and over to the front door. First, he had to get out of the house, quietly, and get downtown before—

"Peter Benjamin Parker," crowed a feminine, angry voice. At once, he halted in his tracks, his shoulders tensing as he closed his eyes. He'd been so close, so close, to getting out the door without a hitch. Squaring his shoulders and inhaling deeply, he turned on his heel, watching as his aunt strode down the stairs, her dark hair mussed with sleep and her hands wrenching hard at the tie of her robe to fasten it in place.

"Aunt May," he replied to her, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. She dipped her chin at him when she got to the landing, her dark eyes fastening on the bag he had in hand.

"You better have packed for a long weekend at the Tower," she remarked, eyebrows inclining and her arms folding over her chest. Peter sighed at her pronouncement. He hadn't been able to keep his meeting with the Avengers a secret from her; after all, she would have learned about the gist of it with the rest of the world soon enough, so he did not see the harm in alerting her ahead of time. However, she must have noticed something about him, about the secret determination that he had settled upon.

"May..." he began, only to be cut off by the hand she waved through the air.

"You are not going to the base. End of discussion."

At once, his spine stiffened, bristling at the command levied upon him.

"No, it's not. I'm not staying here, not when the call's been made."

May canted her head, her brow furrowing hard. "That is for the Avengers, and for everyone who is of—"

"Of age?" he snapped, unable to take the same tired argument he'd been hearing for years. It was exhausting, and by that point, it was infuriating, to be told that he couldn't, he shouldn't, because he was too young, too inexperienced. It was such a load of bull, in his mind; Commander Rogers had gone into his first battle knowing almost nothing of fighting, and Tony had gotten himself into the superhero business almost literally by accident. What right did any of them have to dictate when he could or couldn't act, just because they all managed to crest over nineteen before jumping into battle?

It wasn't fair, and more importantly, it wasn't _right._

To May, he growled, "I'll be eighteen in two weeks; I've been doing this for two years already. What difference does my age make at this point?!"

"It makes all the difference, Peter! You're my boy," she cried, her voice cracking on the words. Though she was not his biological mother, May Parker had been his mother in every other way for seventeen years. He'd grown up, filled out some, but he was still the boy she helped learn to walk and talk, who came to her for help with his coursework or with whatever girl problems he was having at the moment. He would never stop being her boy, even when he developed abilities and was hell-bent on rescuing the world around him...even when it had the potential to cost him everything.

Tears rimmed her eyes, and Peter was unable to guard against them, the fight draining out of him. Instead, he dropped his bag, going right up to his aunt and gathering her into a tight hug. Her thin arms wrapped around him, like they had done a thousand times before, but the air remained charged and strange. He braced his forehead against her shoulder, her fingers starting to card through his hair as though he needed the comfort.

She sniffed hard, twice, and then said shakily, "Going through this again...over and over, I never thought..."

It wasn't something she'd ever pictured for him, and he knew it. His Uncle Ben had had a history of service, but it was different that time with him. Now, it was the young man she viewed as a son running off to fight, going to be part of something far bigger than anyone could have imagined. Peter sniffed then, too, drawing back and holding her at arm's length.

"I know. I never thought it, either," he stated plainly. A rueful grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he shrugged a shoulder. "The most I wanted to maybe be an astronaut or something when I grew up. But, well, you know what happened there."

May could not help the weary chuckle rising through her, her head shaking as she looked away.

"Yeah." Her palms squeezed where they rested on his arms, and she told him, "You shouldn't go. Tony wanted you to stay here."

The invocation of his mentor's name generally got Peter to agree with whatever stipulations were made on his work and his activities. However, when she glanced up at him, she saw the set of his jaw and the hardness in his irises. He would not be moved, not that time.

"Tony's not here. I'd be of better use with the team, with everyone, than sitting in the Tower twiddling my thumbs and hoping for the best," he said bluntly. Sure, Tony had charged him with protecting Pepper, and working with the Defenders if needed, but he knew the truth about both those appointments. Ms. Potts (Potts-Stark, he reminded himself, as ever) had her own faction of bodyguards, and the Defenders were hardly in a humor to tolerate him most days. No, if he went to the Tower, it was unlikely he would be able to leave in time to be of use. Raking a hand back through the flopping locks of his hair, he took in a deep breath, raising himself to his full height. "I can't stay here. Not when the world needs every single person who can fight. I have to do this."

May looked at him for a long moment, silently assessing the young man in front of her, before she reached her decision and nodded.

"Fine," she intoned, deceptively mild. Peter was tempted to grin in relief, but that was before she glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a huffing breath. "Give me a half hour. I need to pack and make a few calls."

He blinked at that, his brow furrowing swiftly. "What?"

"You're not going up there on your own," she replied almost breezily, as if heading up to a base run by the world's foremost specialist team was something to be done every weekend. However, he would have to have fooling himself to not see the grim determination in her gaze, one that was eerily similar to his own. With her hands on her hips, her voice lowered again, and she murmured, "If you do get the call to...I want to at least be there to...see you off."

Peter opened his mouth to argue, at least nominally, but as he looked at his aunt, his family, he knew better than to try and sway her. Stubbornness not only ran in the Parker blood, but had married into it as well.

"...Okay," he said, letting his shoulders sag as she pivoted and marched back upstairs to get her things. His hand palmed the smartphone in his pocket; he did not relish the calls he would have to make to explain May's presence upon arrival, but at that moment, the Avengers were the least of his worries.

There was a bigger fish to fry, and they all knew it. They just had to brace themselves and prepare for it.

* * *

 **A/N:** We open with a Peter and close with a Peter. Fun fun.

Sorry this chapter was so late. Seems like the busy nature of the month finally caught up with me, plus I recently contracted a cold, which I'm still recovering from. I know it's not a great bunch of excuses, but...I really am trying to keep up. Life happens, ya know?

We are inching ever-closer to the final confrontation, hoo boy...

I'll try to be more on time (within a week) for posting next week, but I do have my nephew's birthday to celebrate on the weekend, so we'll see how quick I can be. Thanks in advance for your patience!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

I know a good portion of you are in the midst of your midterms; I wish you luck! And to those of you who are not, I wish you luck with the rest of your week. And as a reminder: I do have a Twitter with which to keep you all updated about stories, etc. My handle is PhanProTweets.

Last thing: I posted a new chapter to _Down the Hall_ last week. Check it out if you feel so inclined.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	14. Chapter 14

Deep in the heart of a military base near the West Coast, a technician monitoring the operations of a satellite bank was leaning back in his chair, boredom settling into his very soul as he switched between camera monitors. A few had been mounted to the satellites, as a way to track the International Space Station whenever it passed. It was a boring duty he'd rather have been on latrine-scrubbing duty instead, to be honest. The appeal at staring out at little white dots, and occasionally the twisted structure of the station when it happened to chance nearby, had vanished about a week after he'd been assigned the task.

Clicking to the next, he blinked, his spine stiffening as he noticed the abnormality upon the screen. Wonderment and fear started to flood through him, and he frantically snatched up the ancient phone positioned next to his monitor. The call went through after barely a second, and he asked for his commanding officer to come to his bank immediately. Short, tense minutes passed as he stared at the screen, barely noting the officer's arrival and managing a clumsy salute.

"What is it?" the commanding officer on duty asked him, nodding for him to drop the salute and return to his seat. Unable to truly explain, the young technician flapped a hand at the recording on the screen.

"It's..."

The officer watched as the technician pointed and the camera twitched, capturing the approach of something...strange. An unfamiliar space vehicle, chrome in color and lit up with various lights, stealthily floated through the darkness, its unusual H-shaped causing eyebrows to rise. As it came into clearer view, other dots of chrome and bronze seemed to follow behind it. Understanding with deep dread what he was looking at, the officer discreetly swallowed. He remembered the call, the dossier that had been forwarded to him from the Pentagon that told him he and his men would have to be on the look-out for such a thing. Now, it seemed, it had arrived.

There was only one course of action to consider. Dipping his chin, he gestured to the technician to stay put, retrieving his own smartphone from his pocket and hitting the speed dial.

"Time to call Colonel Rhodes, and the Avengers," he murmured, the commands for all to remain vigilant at at their posts spat out before the first call could connect.

 **xXxXxXx**

It was impossible to miss what happened over the course of that day, when the first alarm was raised. The Pentagon, and Rhodes, had forwarded calls to the base, getting in touch with Fury, Hill, and the captain stationed there. Alien crafts had entered the space just beyond the atmosphere of the earth, just as they had been warned. Yet there was no further movement or message from them. Though they had been warned of a possible attack, they were unprepared for stillness. What would they do?

They had merely been the first to call. Others, including leaders and military members from several other countries had made contact, demanding what should be done. All three, along with the gathered Avengers, and even the Defenders, had warned them to stand poised and ready. There had been plans in place for days, and it would not do to not be prepared for the worst yet to come.

And then, the message came. It had disrupted all airwaves and satellites, demanding to be heard. Bucky Barnes had been in his office, yet another sleepless night passed in preparing for the incoming assault, when JJ fed him the alert. The AI actually sounded disturbed, and he was hardly surprised if it was. Conceding to his question of turning on his screen to watch it, Barnes sat up in his seat, his teeth gritting hard as the abductor of his friends and allies, the threat to Earth, appeared. He sat upon what looked like a throne, the golden armor upon his person solidifying his conquering form.

"Terrans, you have one chance," the purple-skinned, shadowed menace intoned. His deep voice rang out with the scorn and irritation of the ages. Red eyes narrowed in on the screen, and the invader continued, "Surrender what is mine, and I will let you walk. Most of you. The offenders you sent against me, though, will have to pay the price.

"However, withhold what I seek, and I will not rest until I have destroyed every last one of you who stands in the way of me and my quarry. You will have one planetary rotation to meet this demand via this paltry satellite system." Holding up what appeared to be a holographic, digital map emanating from a small disk in his palm, he nodded to it. The Western hemisphere was showing out, the green outlines of North and South America glimmering brightly. Pointing at it, he concluded, "When next I see this landmass, and if I have heard nothing but silence, I will take it as your declaration against me."

After that, the screen went briefly black, before the scroll of a ticker line and the anchors of the news program JJ had turned it to began speculation about the future of the world.

Muting the audio, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he considered what had been presented. War had been declared, or an eventual war, if the Vision was not turned over. Just as they had suspected. Thanos had threatened annihilation if they stood in his way. Again, just as they had foreseen.

All that remained, then, was to go forward.

Somehow, despite the numerous obstacles thrown at them, and the doubts, the majority of the free world's leaders had voted in favor of arming themselves. All troops already at military bases were preparing, last minute call-ins being performed as they stood by for deployment. Wakanda had sent a contingent, along with their king, to meet with Nick Fury the day prior, T'Challa donning his guise as the Panther and promising the aid of his people, whatever the price. Agents within and around were armed and waiting, along with Coulson's special team.

They had just been waiting for this, for this exact moment. The edge had been reached it was time to tip over.

With Thanos' time limit, he estimated that they would have only a few hours. Likely until morning.

Bucky picked up his smartphone, calling Hill and merely telling her to sound the call before hanging up again. Rising from his desk, he strode out into the hall, finding himself face to face with the remaining team members. Joe Chapman, along with his fellows, blended in seamlessly, and the Defenders even stood awaiting orders. The enormity of his duties, of the role he had to assume since Steve was unable to, settled heavily upon his shoulders again, but he took in a deep breath and sighed through it. A command was given, one to get ready and meet upon the upper deck was issued. As one, the others moved towards the elevator bank, ready to take it to their storage spaces and ready themselves for battle. Only one lagged behind, Natasha's ocean-colored eyes boring into him as she stared up at him. Extending his metal palm out to her, she did not hesitate to put her hand in his, letting him draw her in. The weight of the last few days (weeks, months...who knew) was forgotten for a moment as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. They would be fighting side by side, perhaps to death, but they could have a moment. They would have their moment together. Fingers snaked around the collar of his shirt, tugging him down so that she could soundly kiss him. The graze of lips was firm, silent promises and wishes hovering between them when they eventually parted. Smoothing a hand over her hair, Bucky inclined his chin at Natasha, her answering nod following seconds later. Slowly, he let her go again, watching as she turned and strode away. He would join her downstairs, but not quite yet.

There was one person missing from the gathering, and it would not do to leave him out.

Barnes descended to the apartment levels at the back, speculating how his quarry would likely be there. Peter Parker had not been in the labs since his arrival at the base a few days ago, and it would be best to start there.

He, along with the Defenders, had been flown in, the last of the powered and privileged beings summoned for the world's defenses. The team, those who had come through and back to Earth, had greeted them on the platform, Lang leading the Defenders to a few apartments given over to their use, and Barnes showing him to his. May Parker's presence, in the end, was permitted, if slightly questioned. But she'd shown her steel in refusing to abandon her nephew when he needed support the most, a deceptively mild insistence that they would need her, too. After all, it was people like her that the Avengers fell back upon in times of crisis.

No doubt he would be with her now.

Soon enough, he came to the hall that housed his rooms, and the older man knocked hard against the door. Within moments, the portal swung open, the teenager staring up at him expectantly. Barnes, in turn, glanced past him briefly. Since his upgrade to Junior Avenger status, and as he was to attend Stark at the base for the summer, he did merit rooms of his own. However, they had not been repainted or furnished beyond the basics, which left him a kitchenette with no cooking implements, a bedroom with a partially assembled dresser, and a living/work space with a couch and a desk, but not a television or computer. In truth, he was just grateful to have a place to sleep and drop his things after snatching what he could from home and the Tower, and said as much to them.

Such was the case before him, though May was perched upon the sofa, the lines of worry in her face cutting harshly. Much as she likely wished a summons would not happen, there was a form of expectation in her eyes. Inhaling sharply, Bucky looked back to the young man before him again.

"You still want in, kid?" he asked, not bothering to explain that the call to arms was being distributed even now. He could hear another news program playing in the background, the last of the day's light playing through the windows across the television screen. They knew, they understood.

He could see it in Peter's eyes as well. The knowledge, and the hunger, sat within, and he drew himself to his full height under the older man's scrutiny.

"Yes, sir," he replied, nodding. Bucky took a step back then, gesturing for him to leave the apartment and meet his promise.

"Suit up, and be on the upper platform in fifteen," he commanded quietly, turning his back to let the teenager share a farewell with his aunt. Though she could bluster and bluff her way in, she could not extract her nephew from his own wishes and wants. Neither of them needed a witness to that surrender, to the good-byes, and so he would not allow himself to stay. He had barely pressed the button to summon the elevator when he heard hard tromps behind him, Peter's sneakers deadened by the carpet beneath them.

As it turned out, he and the kid were the last ones to be getting ready, the locker rooms nearly silent. Despite the enlarged numbers of those gathered, they'd all managed to get ready and get out before his arrival, and he could not help but be a little pleased with that. His suit, which had been shoved away since the return home, was fetched up, the midnight blue and dark red allowing the white star to stand out. It and the shield loomed before him, the final reminders of his friend's surrendered status staring back at him briefly. Would it be the only reminder he would have, once the battle was joined?

He would not allow himself to think so, and so he would not. The suit slid on easily, buckles and packs secured into place along his waist. Two guns were secured into thigh holsters, knives sheathed and strapped to the belt. Gloved gauntlets were drawn on, boots laced up, and his marked cowl pulled over his head. Lastly, the vibranium disk came to hand, swinging easily onto the magnetic clips on his back harness. Glancing once in the mirror, the persona of Captain America stared back. Not Steve, but himself.

The world needed Steve, but they only had Bucky, and what he could offer. Bucky, not the soldier, not the assassin...just himself. It would have to be enough.

Stepping out, he found himself assessing the teenager waiting for him down the way. The red and blue suit molded to his person, the spider at the center of his chest glinting in the lights of the hall. The white eye pieces seemed to retract slightly as he approached, giving off the impression that Parker was examining him, too. It was difficult to believe, he supposed, that any of them would have ever reached that point two years ago.

But they had, and it was time to progress past it. They needed to meet upstairs with the others, the helicarrier their destination. After all, Bucky still had one more thing to do before heading into battle the next morning, and he refused to not see it done.

 **xXxXxXx**

Twilight had come onto the farm valley, the warm breeze not a balm in the least.

The news had broken a mere hour beforehand, that the Avengers, and the world, would be fighting against Thanos. The captain had yet to make a statement, or address the foul invading creature himself, but it would only be a matter of time before a formal declaration would be sent.

Holly Rogers was perched on the edge of the sofa in the front room of the Barton farmhouse, staring out the window as the last touches of the sun grazed the Earth. Little baby Iris was in her arms, having calmed after a feeding and indulging in a nap in her mother's embrace. Grant, along with the Barton children, was playing in the den, under Laura's watchful eye. Holly's mother had since returned to Minnesota, the first week with the infant passing under her watchful gaze. However, neither Fury nor Hill could keep her presence away from home under wraps for longer than that, and so she had gone, her assistance to her youngest child given and her grandchildren kissed good-bye.

Holly wondered if she could beg for a bit of mercy, now that she knew what was definitely coming.

She ran a finger over the baby's wispy locks, treasuring the warmth of her little body and taking a shaky breath. The radio in the kitchen was no longer on, the consent of the world's leaders to mobilize and ready for extraterrestrial attack having interrupted dinner for them all. Lila and Cooper had turned fearfully to their own mother, whose mouth had set in a grim line as she cradled little Nate close to her. Grant, like Nate, did not truly comprehend what was happening, what loomed on the horizon of the next day, but the clear distress in his mama's face was something he could not ignore. It took everything in Holly's power to assure him that nothing was wrong, that once he finished eating he could go play again with his friend. She had not dared look at Lila, her brown eyes wet with unshed, fearful tears, nor Cooper, his jaw tightening and his hand tight around Laura's wrist. The meal passed in stony silence, the air filled with the radio personality's conjectures and theories before the older woman finally got up and switched it off.

As Laura bundled the children into the den, promising a good movie and some ice cream, Holly had responded to the cries coming through the ever-present monitor that followed her everywhere. Due to the lack of bedrooms, Iris slept in the spare room with Holly, the small travel bassinet a makeshift crib until it would be safe to return home to New York.

If it ever would be safe, she mused darkly, fetching up her daughter and bringing her downstairs for her feeding. Holly still wished to be close to the others, even if she needed the seclusion to feed Iris in peace. Her gaze took in the sight out the front window, glazing over the porch to the fenced field and trees beyond. The last glow of the hour coated the grass and the leaves, gold and red shot through the clouds.

The war was inevitable, she had known that. It did no good to deny it.

She just wished she could have heard from Steve in the meantime. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. The commander of the world's elite task force should have been the one to call out to the nations, should have been the one that they speculated about what sort of declaration he would give in response. Yet it was Bucky, Captain America, who had been delegated.

She knew of the broad strokes of their contingencies, if not the exact details. Something was wrong with Steve, if he could not be the one to respond. And that had fright choking her, clawing at her heart even as it thumped in her chest. Bonnie, from her spot on the rug in front of her, raised her head, dark eyes watching she lifted the baby up and pecked her soft cheek.

"Please, God, keep them safe," Holly whispered, laying Iris against her chest and murmuring a prayer as she rocked. Perhaps it was futile, perhaps not, but it was the most she could do for the team at the moment. Pray, and hope, for them and for her husband. Her eyelids squeezed shut, her stomach clenching as she continued, "Please, keep him safe."

The corgi got up then, trotting over to her and bumping her head against her shin, almost like a cat in that instant. After some negotiation and pleading looks, the little dog wiggled her way onto the sofa, her chin and one paw resting on Holly's knee as she huffed out a breath. The woman felt the tug at the corner of her mouth as she sighed, shaking her head at the comfort the small animal had attempted to provide.

She was still there when Laura came in, Grant asleep in her arms. Silently, the pair maneuvered the toddler onto the other cushion, his head braced against his mother's other thigh as he slept. The two shared a long look before Laura dipped her chin, leaving her with the family Holly had helped create. The younger woman laid her palm lightly on her boy's chest, the other supporting her daughter as she leaned back into the cushions and swallowed hard. All she could do was pray, and hope, and protect the two precious children she had been given. Until her last breath, if she had to.

Though she wished it would not come to that.

"Please, please," she begged quietly, night enveloping the sky and edging them closer to the promised battle on the morrow.

 **xXxXxXx**

Three more times was Steve Rogers brought away from the cells, returning with new cuts and bruises each time. And each time, he had less to say about the ordeal. In his determination not to crack under the strain and injuries the Red Skull put him through, he was withdrawing from his fellows. The pain of his body, the pain in his soul, was pushing hard against his resolve, and to fight it, he had to hold back. He had to hold on, hold onto all the good that had come before, and the promise of getting back to it one day.

However, even in the silence, the plan to watch and wait was maintained, his eyes joining the others as they watched the rotations, learned the patterns and figured out how best to enact their plans. It was on his return from the fourth session that he could see (through a swollen, black eye, no less) that the rotation had finally played into their favor.

One of the Kree guards had, over the past few times, accompanied him to the lab and back, though he generally had two or three others with him. This guard in particular had taken a dislike to him, nearly matching that of Schmidt's. He delighted in digging in his grip when they hauled him between places, even kicking him when he was thrown back into the cell.

His brutality would be exactly what allowed them to escape, and Rogers would utilize to full advantage.

When he was escorted back down from the next session with the crazed HYDRA leader, he flopped unceremoniously to the floor, the locks of the door barely clicking into place when he began to tap swiftly. Their captors had yet to cotton onto their code, and he would take the risk to tell the others that the time had come. A few taps came back, Wilson granting his blessing to initiate the plan. Stark, however, did not tap.

"Can you?" Tony whispered instead, leaning against the bars of his door and raising an eyebrow. The evidence of the last beat-down, complete with a black eye and numerous cuts along his arms, was before him, and he did not know if Steve could operate through that. Right at that minute, anyway. The other man raised an eyebrow (the one over his good eye) in return.

"Easy," he huffed, a wry smile on his lips. Before the brunet man could say another word, Rogers curled up onto his side, groans and cries erupting from him. It was as if he could no longer bear his pain in silence, and he had to make it known. In his head, he counted the seconds as he moaned in agony, rolling over again and curling up as he heard booted footsteps echo in the hall. Peering through a tearing eye, he glimpsed the Kree guard who tormented him, a malicious glint in his gaze.

Counting on that, he continued to groan, assaulting the creature's hearing. A sneer was shot at him, and the creature glared harder when he kept crying out.

"Stop your screaming," he commanded, banging upon the bars. Repeating that several times, it was clear how high his ire had climbed as he wrenched out the sensor for the cell door lock. Clicking it, he stomped his boots in preparation, indicating exactly what he was going to do to make Steve shut up. Under his breath, he growled, "Stupid human, vile—"

Loud banging on the adjoining wall came before he could enter and plant his foot into Steve's gut. "Say that again, punk! I dare you."

The creature paused in the opened doorway, an evil look decorating its features as it craned its neck to look at Sam.

"I will slay you before—" he started, unaware of the prone figure on the floor snapping his head up. In a blur of blood and fury, Steve was on his feet, his minor pains ignored as he launched himself at the cruel creature. Blindsided, the creature had no time to react as the commander locked his arm around tightly around his neck, legs curled around the waist and full weight thrown backward to further disorient the Kree. The guard's hands scrabbled at the muscled appendage squeezing air from its throat, eyes bulging as the blond human grit his teeth maintained his hold. It wasn't long before the creature's eyes lolled back in its sockets, breathing out heavily before its limbs went limp. Thus satisfied, Steve slowly loosened his arm, pressing a couple fingers into where he would assume a pulse point would be. It was weak, faint, but the creature was still alive.

From across the way, Stark's eyes had widened slightly, the viciousness of the attack taking him aback slightly. Of course, he'd seen his friend in battle, knew he was a soldier and his commanding officer, but sometimes it was easy to forget that he had hardness underneath the layer of affability he could don. The guy was a warrior, and had been for his whole life, even when his appearance was small and unassuming.

"Jesus, Rogers," Tony mumbled, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as the commander rifled through the creature's pockets, crowing in victory when he struck paydirt. The clicker with the sensors to activate their door locks came to hand, as well as a few strangely-shaped weapons.

"Just Steve," the blond retorted, smirking as Stark rolled his eyes. Palming the lock device, he shoved the Kree further into his cell before walking out and locking the guard in. Pointing the device at his companions' doors and freeing them, he spiked an eyebrow at Gamora. "ETA of the guards?"

The green-skinned beauty snatched up one of the weapons on hand, a harsh-looking knife that had a rim of red surrounding the edges. It reminded Rogers of Duquesne and his sword perhaps it was a form of laser-edged blade as well.

"Seven minutes and counting," she confirmed aloud, the small pistol given over to Nebula's care. Thor, Sam, and Mantis came forward, Stark stumbling out and brushing down his clothes. Assessing his troops and at least finding them no worse for the wear, Steve nodded to Gamora.

"Let's get moving, then," he stated, the pack of captured Avengers slipping out of the holding. Instead of heading for the elevators, they wisely utilized a set of stairs just down the hall, the posted sentries dealt with swiftly as they moved. Though one would not think that four well-built males and three battle-hardened females could move stealthily, they did just that, sticking to the shadows and avoiding recapture where they could, and only fighting if they had no other choice.

Several levels up, they pushed their way into a relatively abandoned hall. The chrome of the walls had dulled, instead matching something closer to tin in color. The floor itself was also a dull gray, the place awash in light only due to the windows embedded into the outer wall. And there was quite a sight to behold there. All the males froze in their travels, eyes riveted to the view. The clambering females halted when they realized they were not being followed, and they strode back to them.

"Oh, my God. We're here," Wilson muttered under his breath, a deep sigh pouring out of his nose mere moments later. He laid a palm against the clear plate of the window, seemingly covering a portion of the earth. The familiar landmass (Asia, by the looks of it) with the deep blue of the oceans rimming it had his heart twisting in his chest. So close, so close to home. Thor looked down at him, dipping his chin in agreement. Though Midgard was not his home by birth, it was one of his by choice.

Gamora, though she was eager to move on, could not help but look upon the planet. Peter had spoken of it before, of his home State of Missouri, but she had not quite imagine the hues of it all. Despite it being a place of pain, she could see how there could be fondness in his voice when he spoke of it.

Beside her, Nebula let her eyes widen. Her scowl remained in place, though, and she shrugged a shoulder. "This is Terra?"

"It is beautiful," Mantis breathed, her large eyes taking in the sight of the blue and emerald world. Unconsciously, her hand landed upon Tony's shoulder, and she could barely repress the shudder that went through her. Though most of his feelings were pleasant, there was an underlying harshness, the burdens of his life shaping his view of things. Meeting his gaze for a minute, she dipped her chin and dropped her hand. "Dark, but home."

The billionaire took in a shaky breath. "Yes."

Steve's blue gaze turned glassy for a moment, a sharp exhale flying out of him as another thrum of pain ricocheted through his body. Blinking—and finding that his injured eye was actually starting to cooperate again—he turned away, facing the companions who understood the workings of Thanos better than any other there.

The plan had changed, changed from a commandeering mission, and they needed to find another way.

"We need to get down there, immediately," he said, looking at them expectantly. Gamora's dark eyes met her sister's, and they both shook their heads.

"We've never been on this ship before. We were meant to be foot soldiers, not his captains," Nebula returned, flatness in her voice. Deflation threatened the others until she cocked her head to the left, squinting in thought. "But, this ship is similar to others in some respects. Such as, it is likely that escape pods are nearest to the main bridge for easy access."

Stark and Wilson shared a glance, Rogers sporting an unamused expression.

"So no matter what we do, we have to go opposite the lion's den?"

Nebula raised her chin. "Yes. It will be difficult, but not impossible."

Once more, the others looked to one another, seeking out the correct answer to that. It was the Asgardian who ultimately gave it, the eagerness to be away and back with the people under his protection evident.

"Difficult can be dealt with," Thor remarked, the words a pledge for him. Slowly, the others gave nods in agreement, and Steve cupped a hand in the air.

"Lead the way."

"Certainly," Gamora said, striding to the end of the hall. Glancing around, she caught the script along the wall, smirking broadly when she realized she could read it. Jerking her thumb to the left, she indicated, "But first...munitions and armor lock-up would likely be this way."

Stark's eyes lit up at that, and he rubbed his hands together almost gleefully.

"Oh, perfect," he breathed, he and the rest of their companions hot on her heels. They would take back their armor, their weapons, and their lives.

 **xXxXxXx**

Thanos gripped the arms of his throne tightly, watching upon his viewfinder as the planet before him was circling around. Though he'd kept his ship in movement to resist the gravitational lock it could be put into, he still kept his gaze riveted to the looming speck of dirt before him. Nothing yet, from the humans.

And that was not all that he hadn't heard about. His teeth started to grind just as the airlock on the door to his chambers released. The Kree captain tumbled in, two of his sergeants following (at a distance, the Titan mused), out of breath and dropping to his knees in supplication.

"Sir, sir! The prisoners, they're—"

"Loose, captain?" the Titan interrupted, the deep irritation flickering in his blood-red irises. Tapping at the controls in the armrest, he turned the throne from his screens to the inner room. Looking down upon the quaking captain, he grunted, "Yes, I'm aware. In fact, I was aware when they first broke out, nearly a full hand rotation ago." Another button was thumbed, and one of the screens behind him lit up with one of the recordings made on the lower floor some time ago. Four males, dressed in their dirty clothes, followed behind three females, weapons in hand and determination in their faces. He did not have to look to know what was going on. Instead, he chose to witness the captain shrink back in fear. Clicking his tongue, he muttered, "I have access to the same security feeds as you. Yet somehow, you failed to note the breach until this moment. Why?"

The captain swallowed, the last sands of the hourglass sliding through his fingers. "I, I, I did not wish to..."

"No excuses," his leader commanded. Turning his throne around again, he propelled it to one of the side boards, tapping at the keys rapidly. Within moments, the screen was filled with the face of another Asgardian, one who would be far more likely to work along with his desires. Since arriving upon the ship, Loki too had been held in a form of cell, though he was given leave to walk around the vessel if he chose. As luck would have it, he happened to be in his room, ready for his command. Inclining his chin, Thanos declared, "My Lord Loki, our prisoners have escaped. I am entrusting their arrest to you."

The dark-haired male opened his mouth to speak, either a thinly-veiled insult or a benevolence—it could go either way with him—but Thanos would not allow him to do so. His honeyed words had brought him nothing but disappointment in the past. Instead, his actions would have to speak for him instead.

Fingers flew over the keyboard, another screen enabled and showing how the door to the laboratory was fully and completely unlocked. A small, sneering grin decorated the Titan's lips, and he squared his shoulders.

"The Red Skull shall be let go to track them as well. Go," he told Loki, snapping the camera off before he could say a single word. Slowly, he backed up his chair securing and locking it into place before rising. The two sergeants had backed up, practically flattening themselves against the wall and abandoning the Kree captain to his fate. The tinged skin was nearly gray upon the creature's face as he remained in place, staring at the ground even as Thanos curtly gestured for the sergeants to leave. Purple fingers flapped for him to stand, yet he could not. Though he had done his work faithfully to the Titan, serving him willingly, he knew that the volatile temper, the deep malice within, could bubble over at anytime. Thanos had lived for far longer than he, and his patience—and mercy—were stretched thin. Especially as he was so close to his goal. Anything, or anyone, that impeded him in any way, was liable to face terrible punishment for doing so.

He just did not know to what degree his punishment would go. And he knew he would get it, firstly for not reporting the breach and escape beforehand, and secondly for not capturing the escapees in a timely fashion. All his previous good work could mean nothing then, and he knew it. Horror and dread locked him into place, and still he did not look up when his commander circled behind him. Instead, he closed his eyes, and waited.

"Captain, you have failed me."

The last utterance he would hear from Thanos rang with finality, followed by the sharp crunch and click as his head was snapped to the side. The Titan brushed his hands down his sides, as if ridding himself of actual spilled blood. The Kree captain lay upon the floor, unmoving, and would remain there as he resumed his seat. The intercom from the bridge buzzed as he focused his screens upon the planet called Earth again, one of the soldier below muttering obeisances before delivering his message.

"Transmission received, sir, from the earthlings."

Beckoning the creature in his service to send it to him, one of the screen was filled with a somewhat muddled picture. In the frame stood a human male, dressed in dark blue and red, the white star in his chest nearly gleaming. Gloved hands were braced on his hips, his stance strong. But it was his eyes, the blue turning icy as the seconds passed that resonated with him. It was one of the warriors sent to fight against him at Asgard, one of the meddling Avengers who had managed to evade him. Thanos let his eyes widen slightly as the fellow began to speak.

"Thanos, you have waged a war for the Infinity Stones with countless peoples of the galaxy, and beyond. We will not stand idly by and let you do the same to us." His head cocked slightly to the right, and his lips were set in a thin line briefly. "You want a war? You got it."

And with that, the picture cut out, leaving Thanos in silence.

So, the humans would stand, as the Other had once proclaimed. As he should have expected.

However, he did not think challenging them would mean anything other than fighting for what was his.

"Very well, Terrans," he mumbled to himself. Clearing his throat, he turned to his intercom system, punching in for the next captain at his disposal. First he would contact his own soldiers, and then he would summon the outlying commanders to do his bidding. Carefully, and concisely, he gave his orders. "Prepare the troops to move out."

Suddenly, his ship lurched, and Thanos was rocked to the floor, dazed and wondering exactly what had just occurred.

* * *

 **A/N:** Now we're getting to the action! The Earth chooses to stand against Thanos, and those captured upon his ship find a way to escape and fight back.

Also, I realize I'm fudging the science a little when it comes to Thanos' ship and the gravitational pull of the earth. Let's just pretend his ship's engines have not shut down, and he is powering around the world to assess his newest conquest. I'm not a scientist, okay? Please cut me some slack on that.

I believe it's time to level with all of you, now that we're fourteen chapters in. I have been asked by a few people, through PMs and such, where I intend to go after this story ends. The truth is...this is going to be the (foreseeable) final story in the Of Time series. Much like the MCU, I intend for the Infinity War to really be the last, defining plot for the main characters of the universe here. Honestly, I was surprised to write any story in this universe after At Day's End. Nearly three years later, here we are. So much has happened, but I do not think that, after this story, I can go on. I will try my best to tie up the loose ends as best as I can, and thank everybody properly when it comes to be the right time. Still, I believe this is the right move, ultimately. Going beyond this point, at this moment, feels too much like I'm trying to "jump the shark" (or maybe it already has, and I have been delusional up until this point), or force more out of it when it has the greatest potential to fail and fall. I want to leave this all on a good note.

Do I intend for this to be the last story that pairs Steve and Holly? No, it isn't. I still have Down the Hall to finish, and I also have another AU project for them in the works once this is done. And who knows? Perhaps I'll revisit them at a later date, write a one-shot or two. But once we get to the final chapter for this, I do intend for it to be the last of the main series.

However, we aren't done yet. We still the majority of the battle to go, and the aftermath.

Very little Holly and the children here, but we'll get back to them eventually.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	15. Chapter 15

Thanos rose from his prone position on the floor, another tremor rocking the ship even as he did so. Stumbling over to his master console, he swiftly tapped at the keys, connecting with the outboard cameras. Amidst the cries and crashes coming from the deck down below through the comm system, he was able to spot the bronze blur rocketing around the ship, yellow laser shots peppering the space as it moved. Tapping through to another camera, he caught sight of a fleet of assorted transports, all bearing the flaming insignia of the Ravagers. Gritting his teeth hard, he let out a low groan of annoyance, tapping at the keys yet again. Within moments, he opened up another communication line, connecting with the four captains of his battalion.

They were the brightest, the most eager to serve, and the best at their individual abilities. They were the children he was proud to call his, the ones that molded the closest to his image. The males ranged from strong and forceful, fast and cunning, to the single female deemed worthy, nimble and shrewd. The largest was fully decked in bronze battle regalia, his brothers in black and white respectively. The sister in light mail and gripping her spear stood erect before her display, the first to bow her head in respect of their father. The others quickly followed suit, and Thanos waved the formalities off.

There was no time to dedicate to such things.

"It appears the humans have even more allies to draw from," he growled at them, barely noting the chagrined and perplexed looks on their faces. They were not ignorant of the sudden battle taken to them, that much was true, but they had not thought the humans would be capable of such a thing in that time. Pointing the female and the black-armored son, the Titan ordered, "You two will draw them away from this ship long enough for the contingent to land."

His finger jerked again, pointing to the remaining two, his best ground fighters.

"You two will join it, and me, on the planet's surface." With them, they would be able to hold the planet when it was time for them to join their kin. He had no doubts about their abilities. Dips of the chin were given, and they spoke their compliance as well.

"Yes."

"Yes, Father."

Another blast pinged somewhere off the ship, the craft lurching as it was brought through another turn.

"Go, now!" he commanded, sweeping up the last pieces of his armor and the weapons now strewn about the floor. It was imperative to get down to the planet's surface, and he would not let any more time pass.

It would be finished, that day.

 **xXxXxXx**

Peter Quill directed the _Milano_ through another pass, his focus narrowed out the glass cover of the cockpit as he went. Leading the assault, he shouted orders on and off through his comm, the Ravagers' smaller ships disembarking from the mother vessels and joining them in the fray. Cannon shots of all colors embedded themselves into the unmarked hulls of Thanos' fleet, two of the major ships turning sluggishly to find them. The H-shaped craft, which was the Titan's flag vessel, appeared to be taking hits more than retaliating. In between the shots coming from his own craft, Peter could not help but wonder why that was.

At least, until control was wrenched away from him and the _Milano_ went into a sharp nosedive

"Holy shit!" the one called Star-Lord groaned, his stomach lurching and twisting as the vessel was brought back up again. A shower of parts floated after them, an enemy gunner taken down. Bright eyes darted over to his right, his eyebrows climbed as he scowled at Rocket. The raccoon-like creature glanced back him, shrugging a shoulder.

"What? It was coming right for us! We had to at least dodge!" he defended himself, not sorry in the least for saving their skins while Quill's attention was highjacked. The pilots sent out in Thanos' fleet were clever, and it wouldn't do to let the mind wander away from the fight too much. Peter merely rolled his eyes, assuming control again and stiffening his spine.

"Whatever," he grunted, turning the controls and cutting a hard right. Midway through the turn, he called through the intercom system. "Drax, left cannon?"

"Holding," the fellow titled Destroyer shouted back, his position within the vessel handled masterfully. His focus was unparalleled in that instant, his shots true as his captain brought them around for pass after pass.

Peter nodded to himself, clearing his throat and calling out again. "Groot, right?"

Shuffles and the groan of wood settling rebounded, before the root creature replied, "I am Groot!"

Out of the right cannon came another hail of fire upon a swooping enemy, cutting off just as a Ravager ship zoomed after it. The ally managed to land a few final blows before the enemy ship burst out into a ball of flame, the remains floating behind.

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Quill whooped, pride for the young root creature swelling in his chest. The back of the _Milano_ jolted, and as the Guardians aboard began to set about the task of shaking the broken-off contingent coming after them, chirps coursed up from the panels. Thankfully, it was not a warning chirp, and Rocket was quicker on the draw to flip the switch.

"Quill, Quill..." a familiar voice cut over the comm line. A frustrated grunt echoed when he did not answer right away, and then the fellow tried again. "Star-Lord!"

Taking another dive and fast turn, Peter cleared his throat. "Go, Rainbow Brite."

On his end, Adam took a sharp breath, the confusion in the sound obvious when he spoke again.

"What is..." he trailed off, and the swish of his head shaking could be hear over the line as the _Milano_ weaved between the prongs of one of the larger vessels. It was clear he decided to not pursue that avenue of inquiry, instead reporting, "Pods have been ejected from the main ship. Seems that Thanos has utilized the battle to get his own troops to head to the earth."

Rocket and Quill shared a fast look, digesting that information. It would explain why the lead vessel was barely participating in the battle, especially after being fired upon first. If Thanos was not on board, then he would hardly have a care to what was happening around it. He was bent on dominating the earth; it had not entered his mind that he could potentially lose. Coughing once, Peter's expression hardened, his grip around the controls firming up.

"Well, we'll just have to keep the rest of them too busy to do the same, then," he intoned mildly. Clearing his throat again, he flipped the switches to connect to their comrades, instructing all the fighters, "Continue engaging the remaining fleet. Do not harm the main ship. Our allies are still on it."

"Right," Adam crooned back once confirmation from the others had been sent in. From near the back of the fleet, his smaller vessel cut down and under the main battle space, the intent clear. Still, he did tell him of his plan. "My ship will head in pursuit, engage on the surface and keep him in one place."

The human male dipped his chin, despite knowing the transformed creature could not see it. "Sounds like a party. Go for it, Adam."

The comm line switched back to the general one, the battle and shots continuing to blast around them. The two wing ships that had been pursuing the Ravagers' fleets were getting too close, and it was time to deal with them directly.

"Think it'll work?" Rocket asked out of the side of his mouth. Peter shrugged a shoulder, his concentration entirely on the blaster fire lighting around them.

"I think it's all we got," he retorted, an eyebrow raising slightly. The raccoon-like creature barked out a sardonic laugh, sitting upon the edge of his seat and raising his chin.

"Fair enough. Let's do it, boss," he stated, deferring to Quill in that moment. Inhaling deeply, Peter did not remark upon it, instead directing the _Milano_ up and over an outcropping of parts. They had a plan, and they would stick to it. It would give them all time, time to shore up defenses and draw the fleet away.

Time for Gamora and the others to get free, if they could. If they hadn't already. The sick slide in his stomach was ignored, and he hollered for Drax to swivel and fire then, the nerves forgotten in his focus.

 **xXxXxXx**

Of course, the lurches did not go unnoticed by the escaped prisoners of Thanos' ship. Once they'd gotten to the armor and weapons lock-up (the guards posted swiftly dealt with and knocked out upon the floor), they'd worked fast to dress and prepare to leave the vessel. Just as Thor had availed himself of an electrified scimitar—Mjolnir beyond his grasp on Asgard, where it had been left—and Tony was wrestling on the last bits of his suit, a new wave of jarring jolts had the seven beings within bracing themselves along tables and walls. When it was over, they all shared fast glances. Once could have been an anomaly, twice an indication of something wrong. That many times, it stood to reason that an external force was acting upon the ship, and it would not do for them to remain ignorant of what for long. Last weapons were snatched up, Steve's shield reassembled and latched onto his forearm, and another jump caused the floor to shift under their feet. Not able to stand it any longer, Gamora huffed out a long sigh, sheathing her confiscated sword and flying out of the lock-up

"What was..." Stark trailed off, following her into the hall straightaway, helmet tucked under his arm. Another bank of windows sat along the opposite wall, and the captured Avengers gathered before it. All of them sported looks of surprise. Within the fleet under Thanos' control were many smaller vessels, fire exchange between them like what would be seen in a science-fiction film. However, it was deadly serious and real, some bronze and brown vehicles erupting into balls of flames before their parts scattered. Gamora glanced over to Nebula, taking in her sister's nearly happy expression before she focused intently on their saviors. Realization flooded through her, and she gasped.

"Those, those are Ravagers ships," the green-skinned beauty breathed, befuddlement in her features. "But they're engaging the fleet."

Rogers came up on her other side, raising an eyebrow. "Friends?"

Gamora gave a wry snort, a deadpan look gracing her face.

"Not really. Not to many people," she mumbled, her hands braced on the pommel of her sword. The remaining team members' eyes were still fastened upon the battle. Squaring her stance, she raised her chin, noting with some quiet pleasure, "Still, they're here, and fighting against Thanos."

Her sister flashed her a fast look from Stark's other side, and opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a finger pointing between them.

"The _Milano_!" Mantis cried, nodding toward one of the blurs flying past. "Look."

True to her word, the bronze ship owned by one Star-Lord darted by, a pack of fighters on his tail engulfed by the friendly fire of a Ravager accomplice. Their friends had come, come to fight as they'd all hoped they would.

"Quill, thank God," Wilson murmured, strapping on his pack a little tighter in anticipation. A screeching sound came through the overhead system, all of them clutching their ears at the sudden pain. A garbled voice rang out through the hall, repeating itself in a language nearly none of them understood.

"What was that?" Thor grumbled, his thundering voice booming around him as he tried to banish the ringing from his ears.

Nearly none of them understood the language used. All but two, at least. The blue-skinned cyborg looked to her adoptive sister, the pair of them looking grim.

"That was an evacuation order," Nebula translated for the others, shrugging a shoulder. "Or rather, an order to deploy."

Gamora nodded, concurring with her statement. "He's taking the troops to the planet to begin the first wave."

The team members digested that, and Mantis dared to wonder, "Will he stay here?"

Sam shook his head in denial, shooting a glance at Steve. "Not with heavy fire on his ship."

The commander nodded, gesturing for them to start heading in the direction the females had initially ball-parked the bridge being. "Okay, we really need to get out of here, now. Let's find the pods."

AT once, they all broke out into heavy jogs, narrowly avoiding a small contingent of soldiers as they found another flight of stairs up. Roughly translating the floor directions painted on the walls as they passed, Gamora and Nebula nudged their crew this way and that, few other disturbances in their path as they rounded the final corner to the upper bridge. A rotunda encompassed the center area, a wide room to the left opening upon a shady control room, and small doors marking escape pods on the right side. Just as they were about to enter one, shouts and heavy-booted steps exploded into the halls leading there. All seven sprang back from the door banks getting into a tight formation as Kree and Chitauri foot soldiers ringed them. Snaps and snarls were directed at them, the captured Avengers shifting to keep their enemies in sight. It would be a tight squeeze, and Tony would have to revert to hand-to-hand combat for the time being, but it could be doable.

Curses in a human tongue, in German, bled through the air, and Steve could not help the stiffness that invaded his posture then. Noting his rigidity, Wilson swiveled his head to stare in the direction his friend was looking. His jaw dropped as a black-garbed, red-faced human pushed his way into the circle. The evil glare, the missing nose, and the broken skull-and-tentacles pin on his collar gave him away.

"Oh, holy hell," Sam crowed, eyes nearly bulging at the sight of the human monstrosity called the Red Skull. From behind him, he heard a canned snort, Tony's face obscured by his helmet but his tone unmistakeably disgusted.

"You know, I've heard the phrase 'ugly as sin', but I never thought it could be physically embodied," he remarked, daring to step forward and take position at Steve's side. The commander held himself still, darkness flooding his features and his hands balling into fists. The former leader of HYDRA flashed a fast, raging look at the canned interloper, and he snorted derisively.

"Friend of yours, Captain?" he asked. The blond opened his mouth, but Tony took another step forward, the lights of his eyepieces brightening significantly.

"Yeah. Howard Stark's son," he proclaimed, at that moment proud to bear his father's legacy. Howard had been among the first recruited to find ways to combat HYDRA, had become a leader of one of the greatest organizations to oppose its threat (not that he knew until after his fortieth birthday, but still). His father had died protecting his work from HYDRA, giving his life to protect even him in his ignorance. He could definitely do that same, standing next to the guy who took the battle straight to the red-faced bastard. "But you can call me Iron Man."

The Red Skull scoffed audibly, his mouth opening again, but a smooth, even voice rang out over him.

"We're not here for banter." The ring of guards parted, and Loki stepped within, his dark hair tucked behind his ears and his expression weary. His bright eyes scanned over them, lingering upon the one he had called brother before clicking his tongue. "You know how highly the odds are against you."

Thor held his brother's gaze, focus unwavering even as he shook his head.

"They've always been against us. And still, we've ended up the victors far more often than you, Loki."

The trickster's stance tightened, one step bringing him closer to his erstwhile ally.

"Barely. In this situation, you cannot expect to win," he replied calmly, perhaps a bit too calmly. One could only wonder if his rage, which was a barely-restrained beast in situations such as these, was near at hand, but neither Thor nor anyone else could venture such a conjecture.

"That's enough," Schmidt exclaimed, his words a trigger for the Chitauri and Kree around them to charge forward. As predicted, the melee was tight, uncomfortable, and afforded little room for any to really move. However, the tightness was utilized by the captured Avengers, attacks amended and coordinated in an effort to lay out as many enemies swiftly. Gamora's blade worked in conjunction with Nebula's stolen batons, Mantis grounding her enemies in time to let Stark knock them with sharp blows from his metal-plated fists, and Thor bouncing between Steve and Sam to hold the enemy at bay. However, that could not last indefinitely, and even though he fought to keep Schmidt in his sights, Steve was unable to prevent his torturer from landing blows of his own. The pair grappled, throwing each other into walls and attempting to best one another that way. Planting his foot on a wall for power, Schmidt leaped and cracked Rogers across the jaw, disorienting him enough to wrap his arm around his throat. Fingers clawed into his limb, but he held on tightly. His own gloved hand snatched at the medallion still dangling from the commander's neck, the chain not tucked under the armor.

Pinching it, the madman chuckled darkly into his enemy's ear, prepared to have the last word. "They're not out of my reach now. None of it is. And your death is at hand. No barriers, no commands. Just you and me, and the end. As always, Captain."

The medallion was dropped, just as red began to flood Steve's vision. Rearing his head back, he cracked his skull against Schmidt's chin, knocking hard enough to loosen his hold. Turning to face him, Steve found himself staring down the end of a thin blade, a beam of laser light surrounding it. Schmidt smirked, the upper hand his in that moment. About to strike, the Red Skull stiffened, his eyes going wide and his jaw working wordlessly. The fast blur of a spear end thumping against the back of his head caused his eyes to roll back, the evil fellow unconscious in a matter of seconds. Attempting to catch his breath, Steve found himself gawking in shock at his rescuer.

It was Loki, his jaw tense as he let his weapon fall to the ground, the activated taser end snapping off. The Kree and Chitauri still conscious paused in their fight, gaping at him as well. With a spiked eyebrow, he hissed for them to return to their stations, blue lines flooding his face and his eyes turning milky-white. The creatures were quick to comply, furtive glances thrown back at the Avengers even as they spilled out of the corridors and disappeared.

The God of Mischief could see the disbelief directed at him from all quarters, and he sighed. It had taken several hour cycles, and proper displays of subservience, but he was able to persuade a good number of those in Thanos' employ to side with him and his plight. Like him, many of the soldiers under the Titan's command had been press-ganged into service, and nearly none of them wanted anything to do with the stones, or Terra, or any of that. All it would take would be a signal from him, and they could begin mounting their rebellion.

It just happened to come in the form of Thanos yielding search-and-capture control to him, his recruited guards masquerading long enough to keep the deformed human from guessing the truth while they hunted their quarry. Straightening his spine, he blinked at them, ignoring the look on the commander's face.

"You cannot expect to win...without my aid," Loki said, staring back all of them frankly. His gaze drifted over to the banks of the escape pods, and he stepped back, stepped away. "Go."

Thor's inscrutable gaze connected with his, and he extended a hand to him. "Brother."

As could have been predicted, he was the only one of them to reach out to him. The deep distrust of him, combined with what he was willing to let the Titan do to one of their own even in the hope of turning the tide against him, could not be banished. Neither could the memories a couple of them shared of his last feints and attacks so close to the earth. The human males and the multi-species females focused upon one another, each looking back to Loki on and off. Soon enough, it was Nebula who stepped up, jerking her chin at the pods.

"We can't just blast off in this. What if it's mistaken for an enemy pod?" she pointed out, a fact they had failed to consider until that moment. With the battle going outside, and their allies unaware of their escape plans, it would make sense that they would now view any ejected pods as belonging to those of the enemy. The taste of defeat sat on her tongue as she muttered, "We're dead, either way."

Loki's jaw quirked, and he pivoted then, marching into the opened control room. Curiously, the others followed him to the door, taking the measure of its contents. The center of the wide space was dominated by a throne-like chair, the chamber at the far end housing a bare mannequin structure. Digital displays and screens dotted the room, the plexiglass at the end opening and revealing the true bridge of the craft below. Breezing by the chair, Loki stepped up to one of the control banks, tapping fast at one of the keyboards and depressing a few buttons (something he'd surreptitiously observed Thanos doing when the Titan did not think he was paying attention, rattling off about his failures as they trekked to Midgard).

"Care to send a message?" he asked, turning back to the gathered Avengers and gesturing to the now-opened communication links. It would permit them to break into the lines of their comrades, let them know they would be on their way out.

Blinking, Gamora took the lead on that measure, stepping up to the console and letting her fingers fly over the board. Within moments, the crackling voice of Peter Quill echoed around them, and her shoulders veritably slumped in relief. The human male himself was in something of a tizzy, Steve would remark later, the feelings in his voice palpable when Gamora told him of their escape and that they would need to be allowed to descend in a pod straightaway. Promising to forward the word and give them to opportunity to get on the Earth. The crashing fire upon the ship seemed to cease then, and she hobbled back to her fellows, nodding for them to go. Quickly, they marched back out into the hall, Rogers and Thor lingering in the frame of the door. Loki darted icy eyes at the commander, the blond man barely tipping his head in thanks for his help beforehand. The brunet god sniffed, half-turning away as the man shared a quick look with Thor, stepping after the others.

For a few seconds, Thor merely looked at his brother, waited for him to speak, explain himself. And sure enough, he was soon rewarded for his patience.

"I do this not for your Midgardian brethren," Loki murmured, unable to keep the slight sneer from his tone. Risking a glance up, he exhaled sharply and elaborated, "I do this because I hate him more. And, if the universe is under his power, then what is left for me?"

Thor's eyes shut, the conflict under the flippancy in his brother's voice all too clear to his ears.

"Your heart still festers."

Loki shook his head, raking a hand back through his hair. "You still wound it. Until it ends, it will putrefy as it ever has."

Another silence, and then Stark barked over the quiet, telling the blond god to get his butt in gear. Shaking his head slightly, the Asgardian took one step away, turning to go.

"What will you do?" Thor asked him, pausing in the entrance to the room. Loki looked up at him then, his bright eyes unfathomable as he ran a finger over one of the arms of the throne. Slyly, he tipped his head back towards the console, to the override commands he knew could be given from the board.

"Turn the tables," he intoned mildly. He did not look back as he circled toward the front of the room. "I'll meet you on the planet."

Thor remained rooted to the spot, his mind traveling down the trail of his idea and finding the potential outcome less than appealing.

"So you say," the blond god responded, sadness lacing his voice. His brother looked over then, all the mutinous thoughts he'd repressed rushing to the surface. Thor had no right to feel as he did, that Loki must stay with him. Staying had not availed him of anything; in fact, he'd lost too much by staying, and returning, to Thor's side. Much as he chided the Black Widow for her fall into sentiment, he despised himself for the brand that had his soul chained. Well, he had slipped those chains, and he refused to be placed back into them.

No matter what good he tried to do, it would always come back to the bad, and he could not afford to think it could be otherwise.

"Go, brother," he murmured, turning his back on him once more. He felt more than heard Thor leave, the imposing presence his elder brother had adopted in their later years vanishing within moments.

The bigger stepped out in the hall, finding that he was not alone. Steve stood there, looking down at the crumpled form in his tattered black robes, the red skull lolling back upon the floor. The commander's hand were shaking, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Years, years of hunting this man down, of desperate attempts to stop his evil came to the fore of his mind. Every skirmish, every raid...the people left to suffer in his absence, the war victims that numbered civilians and even some of his own soldiers. He'd enabled a terrorist organization to thrive, left it to survive in his absence, and had nearly succeeded in destroying the world. Steve's own suffering seemed minor in comparison, though that was present elsewhere in his thoughts.

Schmidt could not be allowed to continue, not after all he'd done. What he threatened to do. The promises he made, with each cut and jab dealt to Steve, inflamed his heart, but he could not will himself to make the final blow. Not on someone who could not defend themselves. Ultimately, though he was a soldier, a warrior...he could not murder in cold blood. He couldn't stoop to that level it just wasn't in him.

And in that second, he couldn't tell if that was a sign of strength or weakness.

Thor walked up to him, seeing the turmoil in his friend's face. Laying a palm on his shoulder, he felt Rogers barely tense under his touch, though he relaxed after spotting him out the corner of his eye.

"Brother Steve, what shall you do?" he asked carefully, knowing that the fellow on the ground was responsible for so much awfulness, not only to the world but in Rogers' own life. Were it up to him, he'd enable the fellow to not rise again, but he knew Steve was built differently, still looked for peace if he could. Tired blue eyes flicked away from the creature, over to one of the empty pod bays, and he jerked his chin up. Resolution made, he quietly asked Thor for his help. The two males lifted the unconscious madman from his prone position on the floor, tapping through the hatch buttons and opening up the pod. Laying him within, they left him there, Steve slapping a hand to close and lock him in. A red sensor triggered on the inside wall, indicating that it was occupied. Taking the next step out of Steve's hands, Thor locked the door. Steve's gaze glanced once more to the control room, knowing that Loki would soon be aware of where Schmidt had gone. It would be his choice of what to do with him afterward.

That would be the fate he'd leave him to. Perhaps it wasn't the true justice he deserved, the comeuppance that Steve had dreamed of giving him in the past, but in that moment, the blond fellow felt that it was enough. He was tired, he was hurt...and it was time to let it go, ignoble as it seemed. Shouts from their friends bade them to hurry up, and the two leftover males stepped into the opened pod, squeezing in just as the airlock door snapped shut.

Loki, having waited for the sensor on the panel to light, ejected the pod then, leaving the locked second for a later time. He sighed, shaking his head as he tucked his longer strands behind his ear. He did have his reasons for bidding them to go, just as he had his reasons for trapping them in the first place.

After all, it was the only way to enact any form of revenge on the Titan. It was the only was to achieve retribution. And, as he watched the monitor register the blast of the escape pod out of the nearby bay, it was the only way to free himself. He would not have Asgard, he would not have the tenuous safety of home granted to him upon his return.

But, well...he could have a ship of his own to command. That was a start, at the very least. Tapping into the system, he assumed his place on the holopad at the foot of the throne, standing erect as the sensor scanned over him and projected his likeness to those left on-board.

"To all those left behind by Thanos to face annihilation, heed me. You were not given the chance to be free, to choose your own fate, bound as you were by threat, by promise, or by fear. I can grant you that. Merely serve me, and I will see that you are free from that fear, and I will meet your promises. If you wish it, I will grant it."

"But first...let us leave our mark upon those who have wronged us."

He couldn't hear any cheering, but he did look out upon the bridge, those below snapping their heads up to him through the glass. Hundreds of eyes measured him, measured his words and his purported promises. Could he truly do that for them? Could they trust him? Frankly, he would think them foolish if they did so, but he played upon their personal encounters with Thanos, knowing that those who had gone to the earth had proven themselves wholeheartedly dedicated to his cause. These creatures, however, were not of their mind, and he knew that.

Therefore, he relaxed his spine slightly when the communication line was opened up, one of the ranking members below palming his device and speaking to him.

"...Orders, sir?" the Kree warrior asked, and Loki could not suppress a smirk. Stepping backward, he seated himself upon the large throne, hitting the buttons along the arm to pull up a form of digital radar and sizing up the remainder of the armada. The ones called the Ravagers were making a decent effort, but it was clear that they would need aid to completely vanquish their foes.

That, they could do.

Leaning back against the rest, Loki thumbed the return comm line button, the smirk turning into a devilish grin. "Turn, and then...open fire on the unmarked vessels."

The ship shifted once again, and with the trickster god at the helm, he watched as white and yellow cannon fire began to pepper Thanos' contingent, his reserves to be decimated and Loki's full wrath to be felt.

 **xXxXxXx**

The morning light of the sun had stretched over the horizon, the continent of the United States encompassed by the day. Satellite feeds—those that were not hit by stray shots—had already picked up on the battle just beyond the earth's atmosphere, allies having arrived in time to at least step in when the earthlings needed them. All upon the planet seemed to freeze and watch with bated breath, the fate of their futures being determined even then.

And the tenseness was no greater any where else than on the helicarrier passing down the East Coast. The gathered Avengers, King T'Challa's contingent mixing in along with the Defenders, watched as SHIELD's personal feed snared a shot of a certain bronze M-ship, something akin to relief flooding through them as they realized Quill and their new partners had come through.

However, that relief was short-lived, an alarm blaring throughout the vessel then. Bucky Barnes, with the captain persona he'd developed over the last two years sliding over the jump of nerves inside him, gestured to Joe Chapman, the King of Wakanda, and Natasha, the three his chosen lieutenants for the battle ahead. The rest he bade to head to the rendezvous site they'd agreed upon within the first hour of arrival there. The quartet formed up and moved swiftly down the halls to Nick Fury's office, the room in a bit of disarray with tablets and papers strewn about the available surfaces. The man in question was at the far end, near the window bank facing upon the bridge below. He was tapping at a digital display, turning and opening his mouth to speak to those who had come, but he was interrupted.

"Repeat, touchdown has happened! Thanos and his army are on the planet!" cried a voice through the intercom, the view of the bridge below showing the SHIELD agents there scrambling to make assessments. A flash of blue hair streaked by; Kay was there, her dark eyes darting up to the windows and connecting with Bucky's briefly before dropping. She'd been there for the last month, he'd known, but had yet to reach out to Wilson's girl. Particularly when he knew she'd been made away of the reason behind his absence.

Steering clear of them had been her choice, and he had respected that, at least.

Fury's mouth closed, a frown creasing his lips and his head shaking at the interruption. Oh, well. The message that needed to be delivered had been, and they could move on from there. T'Challa, cradling his helmet in his hands, cast him a world-weary look, one that spoke of deep understanding. Chapman and Romanoff glanced to one another, the Liverpudlian man shrugging a shoulder as the redhead maintained a stoic posture.

"Where?" Barnes asked then, going and meeting Fury behind his desk to look upon the digital display. The other man tapped at the screen, zooming out on the map and narrowing in elsewhere on the continental United States.

"Last sighting was just over a little podunk town in Missouri," he relayed, marking it with a finger. The expression on his face was blank, save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he looked upon the name of the town. His tone barely trembled with emotion, but there was enough of a thread there to be noticed. A red dot notated the site, and he straightened, shooting the brunet man a fast look. "You ready?"

Barnes looked over his shoulder at his compatriots, cornflower blue eyes settling on Natasha. Her head inclined the barest fraction, and he inhaled deeply.

"Yes, Director."

Fury nodded as well, tapping through the comm lines and bidding all agents aboard to prepare to roll out. With that accomplished, he relayed the coordinates to the necessary parties, intent on following after the Avengers to provide further support. To Bucky, he held out a free hand, clasping his metal one and pumping it in a genuine, true handshake.

"Good luck," he murmured, his good eye flicking over to the others and nodding to them as well. Barnes dropped the handshake, stepping back and breathing deeply again. Pivoting on his heel, his companions were a mere step or two behind him as they mounted the nearest elevator, the whipping winds of the upper deck nearly overtaking them as they rushed out to meet the rest of their compatriots. All of them had remained suited and geared up since arriving mere hours beforehand, bracing themselves after Bucky had made his rebuttal to the Titan. Stephen Strange nodded to them as he approached, indicating that all were prepared, and Barnes relayed the coordinates of the touchdown spot to him. Exhaling swiftly, the Sorcerer Supreme focused upon a spot of open air in front of them all, golden whirls encircling his hands as he concentrated and spread them. A portal was activated, the space beyond the edged opening revealing what could only have been a wide open field.

Their destination was awaiting them.

"Take a deep breath," he advised them all, his gaze lingering upon the Spider-Man for a moment before ricocheting over Bruce Banner (those two were the ones most affected by that form of travel, he'd found, and it didn't hurt to give them tips to get through it), though all the others dipped their chins in response. Looking to Bucky, he implored him silently to take the first step, to lead them once more. Barnes found his feet moving him ahead, his hand tapping once against the shield strapped to him back to ensure it was still in place. Taking the breath as he'd been advised, he stepped into the portal, jarring and swirling sensation rattling him to his very bones as he went through.

Pressing a hand to his stomach, he cast his gaze around the terrain on the would-be battlefield, assessment clattering in his brain as the others stepped one by one through the portal. The wide, rolling expanse of the field revealed a few banks of trees along the outer edges, a farmhouse set at some distance away—a cloud of dust floated through the wind, and he could just make out the back end of a truck, the civilians there having beat a hasty retreat once they discovered what was happening.

And to the west, he could see them. The multiple, smaller vessels that had ravaged Asgard had landed, creatures in wicked armor pouring out to begin their assault, their leader treading out of one of his own. From that distance, Bucky imagined the purple behemoth narrowing his eyes in on the intruders, watching as they formed a line to face off against him and his ilk. Barnes held his ground, feeling the presence of the others taking position quickly. Natasha stood at his right, Chapman pulling down his Union Jack mask on his left, and the others staring out as well.

"Fury, we made it through," he confirmed as Strange assumed a place between Parker and Wanda Maximoff, her brother Pietro shifting almost uncomfortably beside him.

"Good," the director's voice carried and crackled over the comm links in their ears. "National Guard and special force teams will arrive in around two hours."

Romanoff cocked an eyebrow, and let out a slow breath.

"Fine, we'll keep them busy until then," she said, the serenity in her voice at odds with the scowl on her face. Bucky squared his shoulders, drawing up the cowl and settling it over his head.

"Everyone, ready?"

"Born ready, Captain," Barton chimed from down the line, Katie Bishop raising her chin beside her erstwhile mentor. A sudden whoosh and whir came from overhead, metal clanking as it hit the ground behind them. Swiveling swiftly, Bucky's eyes had widened marginally at the sight.

"Hope you don't mind one more crashing the party," came the canned voice from the helmet, Colonel Rhodes' presence confirmed further. Though he'd been retired for the better part of two years, he was not entirely out of the game. After his surgery and subsequent physical therapy, he had managed to walk with the aid of a cane, sometimes getting along well enough to fool people into thinking he didn't need it. And Stark had made good on his promise to improve his suit despite him walking away, in case he ever needed it. Well, those extra shocks and clamps that were attuned to his movements were coming in handy, he mused privately as he strode up to the line, the dull silver of his suit glinting as he nodded to Barnes. "Someone's gotta pick up the slack that Stark dropped."

The lack of humor was evident in the new captain's eyes, though the corner of his mouth did curve.

"Fair enough. Fall in," he stated, gesturing for the War Machine to step up to the plate once more. Rhodes stepped forward, his slightly uneven gait bringing him to rest at the end of the line. The grumbles and crows of the gathering host were growing, and Barnes felt another shiver shoot down his spine. This was it, their last stand.

A great roar rose up from the enemy, weapons and armor clattered in an attempt to frighten them. However, the gathered teams stood their ground, watching for a few second longer before the captain took the first step.

"Alright. Avengers...give 'em hell."

The company broke into a run after their leader, those capable of flight immediately taking to the air above them. The gathered Chitauri and Kree had no time to further form ranks, their own commander barely able to shout out the order to engage before they were sprinting out. Dirt and rocks churned beneath their feet, the field's dust starting to ring them all as the battle commenced. The Avengers weaved in and out among their foes, weapons brandished and blows landing. Widow's Bites stunned while hexes were thrown, speed employed as multiple arrows were launched. The clang of vibranium was accompanied by the fire of guns, the slash of knives. Batons and high kicks were paired off with repulsor blasts and the ground shaking (Crystal, of Chapman's team, had tried to recruit her own contingent, but none had answered her call, and so she was left to move the earth of her own accord). Dark blood stained the ground, screams and shouts pouring out even as webbing stuck the opponents into the dirt. A blur of green plowed through the parties, gnashing teeth and pounding fists beating into those who dared to stand against the earth.

Above them all, the Vision coordinated his attacks with the colonel, one eye always kept upon the great Titan. He was flanked on either side by two creatures both bearing remarkable similarity to him in appearance. The bronze-armored one was eventually drawn out by the Hulk, while the one in white was pulled in by Romanoff and the one called Synapse, the two women engaging him and exposing the Titan further. The fellow moved lithely despite his massive build, his chosen weapons—a wicked sort of mace and laser pistol—wielded with alacrity. Golden armor reflected in the light of the sun, though clouds began to roll in and blot out the sky. Rain was soon pelting them all. It seem that even the planet was attempting to fight back, making the terrain a bit more untenable for the invaders as the dirt turned to mud.

However, not even that deterred the behemoth, the purple menace standing his ground and adjusting his position. Gauntlet or no, stones or no, the Vision was not about to let him continue to threaten this world he'd come to accept as his own. And, as Strange had suggested to him privately, if even one stone was against him, they could stand a chance.

Orange light poured from his stone as he focused upon the Titan, harsh blast pushing him out of the center of the fighting toward the outskirts. Thanos raised his arm, the gauntlet bearing stones deflecting the blasts well enough to protect him from true harm. The Vision landed, his cape swirling around him despite the heavy rainfall. A crackle of lightning was followed by the roll of thunder, the wind plucking at them as the mud settled around his feet.

The Titan focused his red gaze onto him, staring at the stone in his forehead. "You have no right to that."

The Vision raised his chin. "More right than you do."

Gripping his mace tightly, Thanos scoffed. "You could have spared this planet, could have spared them, a terrible fate, if you'd just given up."

The android shook his head, having known that the alien would never understand, not truly.

"They have chosen to stand with me. And I with them," he stated simply, hands folding into fists and electric blue eyes nearly blazing. "My fate is theirs."

The purple-skinned menace stared at him for several moments, ignoring the clash and clang of the battle as he did so. Eventually, he loosened his stance, glancing at the ground.

"Noble..." he nearly whispered, but the sudden fury in his gaze made the android wary. "And stupid."

It took only a moment for the Vision to react, but he was able to engage the Titan as he charged forward, his mace arching fast and wide. The android met him blow for blow, the past years of training and fighting allowing him to hold his ground. However, even despite his skill and strength, he could deny the age and treachery that Thanos boasted. For every blow, there would be a countermeasure; a kick was followed by a jab, a blast with a swing of the mace. And he worked hard to ensure that the Vision never got more than a foot or two off the ground, his cape snatched and his legs gripped to drag him down through the mud.

When he'd succeeded in pushing the android face down into the mud, he yelped in sudden pain. Golden twinges spiraled along his shoulder, dissipating in a matter of seconds. Before he could turn, another pelted him, and then another, pushing him off and away from the Vision. When they finally paused, the Titan looked around for his attacker. Like his compatriots, the black-haired fellow was sodden, tunic and cape plastered to his body as he held his hands out before him. Another conjurer, another mage, Thanos mused in disgust, his red gaze taken in by the glinting amulet upon the fellow's chest. Another crack of lightning, and the amulet was lit, the stone perched in the center veritably ringing with the thunder. The Titan's eyes widened in an almost manic glee, and his smile grew horribly.

"Another stone, and it's here?" he breathed, nodding to the find in question. The announcement did not phase the fellow in slightest, which confirmed that he was not ignorant of what he was bearing. He did wonder, though, if the others were aware of it, though. If not, he'd willfully doomed them, and the Titan would not spare them that. They deserved no less in his estimation. "Thank you, Sorcerer."

"They're not yours. None of them belong to you, and you cannot hope to master them," Strange yelled over the swirl of the storm, the roars of the battling foes. His dark brows furrowed, and he cried out, "They'll kill you first."

The Titan merely looked at him, a sudden, mad grin overtaking his features.

"So sure about that?" he crooned, and without warning, he turned the gauntlet towards the sorcerer. The stones perched there reacted almost instantly, beams of power powering through the defensive shields the sorcerer had raised, too weak to do anything due to the haste. The android had since risen from his prone position in the mud, the streaks of dirt on his person shaken off as he flew forward, Strange right behind him. The pair traded blows with the Titan, Infinity Stone upon Infinity Stone as the colors of each lit up the space around them. The earth shuddered and rocked around them, but none of them could escape it. They were locked into combat, until only one side could claim victory.

The Titan, however, refused to turn away, his anger and pride feeding dangerously into the stones. The growing rage and righteousness in his person empowered him further, far outpacing his foes' as they continued to jab and blast. Planting his feet, he managed to plow his elbow backward, managing to just clip the sorcerer in the head. With him off-balance, he turned fast and kicked, dropping his mace and snatching fast at the amulet around the human's neck. Brutally, he wrenched it off, cutting the skin around the fellow's neck before plowing him into the mud. One stone in hand, he caught the blur of movement out the corner of his eye, and he swiftly ran forward, launching himself at the android attempting to flank him. Due to the sheer size and weight of his body, he managed to bring him down, his strength enough to keep him pinned as they hit the ground. Harsh, ragged breaths were taken, the android actually appearing dazed from the body slam.

"No right, either of you," he growled, viciously snatching the Vision up by his throat. Sensing his intentions, Strange forced himself off the ground, desperately flinging out projected spells as he went. With his gauntlet, Thanos blocked in the incoming shots, returning fire back at the sorcerer. Time seemed to pulse and slow around Stephen Strange, his eyes darting as he attempted to move his sluggish feet forward. Hands and fingers twisted, pulling at the loop he was thrown into. The distraction this caused him was enough to allow the Titan to stride forward, still gripping the android by his neck, and knock through the barrier he'd created. The blow landed across the sorcerer's cheek, a choke in his throat as sudden weakness forced him down. Blinking heavily, he let his gaze wander to the archer stringing up arrows nearby, the Scarlet Witch fending off a few Chitauri with the aid of her silver-haired brother. When the last one was upon the ground, the twins had the chance to look over, faces paling beneath the spatters of blood and bruises.

"No!" the young woman screamed, her green gaze turning scarlet in an instant. Before she or even her sibling could step forward, yet another wave of warriors stood between them, protecting their leader in his efforts to obtain the stones.

The Titan ignored the cries, the ensuing battle still ringing around them. Instead, he looked into the weary, electric blue eyes of the creature in his grasp. The creature, who only lived because of his scepter, it being destroyed to bring him into being. The creature, who even while scrabbling for purchase against his hold, had focused beyond him. The shocking gaze fell upon the woman in matted scarlet, something within his gaze beyond his understanding. It was no matter. He would claim his property once more, and would no longer allow any other to stall him.

With nary a look upon his face, remorseful or otherwise, his gauntleted hand latched around the stone in the Vision's forehead, panic registering in the creature's gaze for the briefest of moments. Gritting his teeth, Thanos tugged hard, wrenching the Infinity Stone from its cradle. Light and life began to slowly seep out of the android's body, artificial eyelids fluttering and his jaw going slack. The clicks and shifts within halted, and the Titan sniffed before dropping the creature, the limbs sprawling as he walked away from him.

A wretched, horrid scream cut through the air, pulses of hexes burning as they rippled out from the young woman who had tried to approach earlier. Her scarlet eyes were rimmed with tears, the pain of her heart radiating in the form of a wide haze. All, save for her companions, within the radius had fallen to her grief, leaving her in a near-perfect circle of devastation.

"VIZ!" she bellowed, her gaze focused upon the lifeless creature. Mechanically, she began to step forward, a hand flying up to either banish the sight before her or to act upon the impulses surging within her. However, that would bring her withing range of Thanos and his gauntlet, something she was not prepared to fight against.

"Wanda, no!" the silver-haired man called out, looping his arms around her waist and holding her back. The Titan snorted, dropping the stone into its new casing on the gauntlet, sneering at the pair.

"You cared for that creature," he accused the human female, smirking as the tears in her eyes dripped unnoticed down her face. The absolute sorrow and rage warring in her features amused him, and he glanced down again at the one who withheld his property from him for the last several cycles. "Useless. He was never meant to live. And you certainly will not past this day."

The last was given with an ugly look, red eyes flicking from Wanda to Pietro as he turned and began to step towards them. Acting on instinct, Quicksilver scooped his sister up, rushing them both away in a blur of blue and white, determined to keep the distance between them and the Titan at a maximum. Her screeches of protest were swallowed up by the clatter and clash of weapons, the harsh yells of his warriors meeting those of the human guardians. Thanos shook his head, flexing his hands briefly. It did not matter if they were sacrificed right then, or if he waited until he found his way to wherever they'd run. There were plenty there to work with, and it would be best to start.

One stone, then two, were perched into the holds upon the gauntlet, the set nearly completed. It would be more than enough for the time being, he surmised.

Raising his gauntleted hand, he managed to manipulate the stones now in his possession, ready to shower the offending humans with his power. He would erase the rebels from existence, and then he would make Terra his. Terra, and the universe, at long last...

A creeping, tingling feeling crept up his spin, something within him seized and held. Unnerved by the singular sensation, Thanos felt himself inhaling deeply, the withered darkness in his soul snatched and squeezed. Bending at the waist, he nearly stumbled as he attempted to right himself again.

"Enough," came a new voice, the baritone rumbling with something starker than wisdom, deeper than knowledge. Bewildered, Thanos felt the squeezing power inside him ebb the slightest bit, enough so that he could look into the face of his adversary.

The golden cast of the opponent's skin gave him away, but the eldritch cast to his eyes made him pause. He knew what he was, but somehow, he seemed...more. The ripped jacket and the robes beneath could not hide that from him, though his eyes did so.

"Stand, Sovereign," he growled, facing him fully and drawing himself up to his full height. "See what good it does you."

The fellow tilted his head, and the light of the sun caught upon the jewel on his forehead, so similar to the creature that was destroyed minutes before. However, there was something darker in his golden eyes, something harsher. Thanos found himself glowering at the bravado, realizing then that he was not falsely displaying that emotion.

It was unfeigned; the fellow truly believed he would be able to fight back.

"You have power, but not complete power," he returned softly, barely heard above the clanks and cries of the battle surrounding them. Tilting his head back down, the jewel began to glow, and the golden creature was illuminated by it. Extending his hands downward, he levitated off the ground, the dirt and the blood that were under their boots falling away. The golden cast became a shield over his irises,. And the stone glowed brighter. Narrowing in on it, Thanos barely had a moment to react when a beam poured out of it, hitting him squarely in the chest. The twisting and squeezing was back, and the muted roar in his throat was met by the slightest eyebrow arch of the Sovereign.

"And I will never let you take it," he informed the Titan, pushing forward and launching himself towards the larger creature.

It would end today. They would both make sure of it.

* * *

 **A/N:**...Yep, that happened. I know a good handful of you will probably have bones to pick with me over all this, but...the choices made were deliberate. I just hope it hasn't put you off the story.

After all, it's not over yet.

And again, I apologize if the action sequences weren't up to snuff. I just...I'm better with fluff, I admit, but I'm trying!

We have one more part of the battle, of the war, to get through, my friends. I hope you can be patient enough to wait for it.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Rainbow Brite, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one.


	16. Chapter 16

The escape pod was no meager thing, as it turned out. It was roughly the size of a small airplane cabin, complete with two padded benches and even hand holsters in the wall to hang onto. It had to be that size, given the broadness of its owner, but it was still surprising that it would as outfitted as it was. The seven escaped warriors held on as it was jettisoned from the main ship, watching out the hatch window as the H-shaped ship began to turn, thrusters taking it in the opposite direction of where they were going. The human males, all unused to the jerk and jump of spacecrafts of any sort, sat on the benches, Sam and Steve digging fingers into the seats while Stark nearly had his head between his legs. Gamora blinked at their behavior; Stark's suit, even with the minor damages, allowed him flight, and Wilson's returned pack had wings upon it. Were they not used to that sort of thing yet? Inwardly, she concluded it may have had to do with lack of control, which was evident as the pod's thrusters boosted it this way and that, ready to pierce the atmosphere of the planet within the next few minutes. She perched on the bench beside the commander, Nebula and Mantis across from her.

Sam exhaled sharply, staring now out the fore window and squinting. "Where is this thing going?"

As far as he could tell, the craft appeared to have a mind of its own, while simultaneously seeming to drift. Nebula, curiosity lining her features, leaned in closer to the control panel, clicking her tongue as she understood what was going on.

"Looks like it's been pre-programmed to land at the same site as the others." Sharing a glance with Gamora, she concluded, "Likely so that no matter what, Thanos could get onto the planet."

Tony snorted at that, turning his helmet between his hands and doing his best to keep nausea at bay. "Convenient. Jumping right into the fray feet first."

Thor, bent with his elbow leaning against his thigh, snickered and grunted softly, "As ever, my friend."

The egg-shaped craft's panels began to light up and blink, a slight whirring sound resounding through the small space. Confused, the gathered companions darted looks to one another. Suddenly, panels from the walls behind slid open, clicks and shifts of plating slipping out. The pieces snagged around their waists and torsos, harnesses strapping them down as the pod made a sharp turn towards Earth. Mantis' large eyes widened impossibly further, just as Nebula crooned about the craft's readiness to descend. Bracing themselves (particularly Tony, given that his harness could only secure itself around his waist, the shoulder ones barely able to fold around his armored shoulders). Hearts and stomachs seemed to leap up into their throats as the pod began to rattle and rock, the fast dip down shaking them all upon reentry. A light pop sound seemed to echo as they fell, and the minutes seemed to crawl by as they got closer and closer to the nearest landmass.

"It's going to be a madhouse down there," Steve piped up then, the demeanor of his countenance having gone flat and rigid. It was a struggle to speak, against the slant and the whirl of his own stomach, but he felt compelled to remind them all that they had not only obtained their freedom, but that they were about to fall into battle yet again. The others stared at him, one or two daring to nod as another shuddering rattle shook the craft. Closing his eyes briefly, he finished, "So whatever we land in, just make sure you keep your eyes peeled and be ready."

"It's almost like you've done this before," Wilson murmured, attempting a weak grin.

Steve smirked, though there was little humor in it. "Once or twice."

Another ripple, and then the pod seemed to fall even faster than before. However, before any of them could succumb to either terror or illness, the crack and fire of thrusters caught again The free-fall slowed considerable as the pod crashed through the thick haze of clouds, flickers of lightning sparking through the darkness. Thor tensed up, his light eyes brightening as the arcs coursed near at hand. Within minutes, the craft was leveling out, halting underneath a hail of spattering sound upon the hull. The harnesses slid away, and the seven occupants looked to one another, relief and wonderment shared. They'd survived the ejection, the fall to Earth.

Now, all they had to do was survive what was on the other side. The commander murmured that they should all get up and get ready to move out, shuffling and side-stepping as best they could to get through the opening hatch at the far end. Before either of them could rise, Gamora reach across the space to her adopted sister, waiting until Nebula's darkening gaze met her own.

"Just remember: together, or not at all."

The blue-skinned female blinked at her, once, twice, before her head inclined. Her expression was unreadable, though, and it chilled Gamora to think that she could not trust her sister to keep that promise. However, there was little time to spare for it; war was upon them, upon their fellows, and they could not afford to stay locked in the pod during it all. One by one, they filed out, out onto the earth.

The scene before them was maddening, they could agree upon that. Sheets of rain poured down onto a muddied patch of land, bodies littering it as far as the eye could see. Soldiers in strange armaments clashed with Kree, with Chitauri, fending off and returning attacks as the ground slurped and swallowed at their boots. The humans were grim and bloodied, but they were managing to hold their own against their foes. Stark muttered something about a Fury human, having called in the cavalry, but the meaning was lost upon the alien females as they continued to absorb the chaos unfolding. A roar blasted in the distance, green streaking through the rain, and even with the dirt and blood spilling along with the water, it was clear to see the Avengers mixed in with the soldiers. Laser lights scorched through the rain far away, the golden armor recognizable even from that distance. Thanos was presently engaged, and the battle was evenly matched at the moment.

Well, perhaps they would be able to turn the tide, Gamora mused lightly, barely feeling the water drops matting down her hair as she unsheathed her swords.

Rogers and Wilson alike scanned the field, making their own private assessments. Given that Fury and Hill, along with Hawley, had likely managed to band together some form of support, it was still a relief to see soldiers from the National Guard out in force, along with Coulson's department and a good number of field agents from the helicarrier crew. It was sorely needed, from what they could see of this first wave of enemies. Briefly, Steve glanced up, the spatter of rain upon his face not deterring his prayers that Quill would manage to keep the rest occupied.

A corporal skidded to a halt before the new arrivals, nearly pitching face-first in the mud as he stared up into the face of the all-American hero standing before the company.

"Commander Rogers!" he gasped, his jaw dropping slightly. Steve brought up a hand, the amusement in his irises draining away as he looked out at the numerous warriors engaged in their midst.

"Mind if we skip the pleasantries, soldier? Looks like we've got a fight to concentrate on."

"Yes, sir. Of course. Let me radio in, get the word around," the corporal said, ducking a stray shot along with the others. At once, Steve pivoted, raising his shield and reflecting the fire back at the Chitauri warrior coming at them. The shot struck it in the leg, causing it to take a knee, and the blond man sprang into action, his compatriots following behind him into the fray. His comm piece in his ear crackled to life once more, establishing contact for the first time in ages. It intersected with other radio channels, the soldier he'd saved doing as he promised and sending the word along that Commander Rogers had come with additional reinforcements.

A flash of midnight blue, paired with a flying disc, flickered by, and Steve fought hard to keep his relief in check.

"Bucky, where do you need us?" he called down over the line, dodging and ducking underneath a Kree warrior's swinging staff. Another crackle groaned into his ear, and then he heard his friend's voice.

"Thank God," was the muttered exclamation, nearly silent save for those with powerful enough hearing to decipher it. Bucky cleared his throat audibly, and he adopted the hard tone he generally used in situations such as the one they were all a part of. "About time you showed up. Hulk's on a rampage, and he could use redirection. Rhodes is doing okay, but the extra set of hands would help."

Rogers glanced back to Stark and Sam, both them giving fast nods; evidently their comm pieces were back in working order as well.

"We're on it," Tony stated, repulsors lifting him into the air and the thrusters taking over as he streaked towards the great green menace to the west. Wilson waited until the last flash of lightning was gone, his wings expanding wide as he took off in a run, lifting high in time with Thor to sprint after him.

"As for everything else," Barnes continued, "just jump in and take out whoever at this rate."

Steve's icy eyes focused upon the whirl of bodies, the clash of warriors and soldiers, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Noted," he grunted, glancing back at the females remaining near at hand. At his nod, they all sprinted off, Mantis staying near to Gamora, blaster shots and her own fluid movements accompanying the slice and dice of the green-skinned beauty's blades. Nebula went in the opposite direction, mercilessly attacking her foes with a blade and blaster, her own robotic hand joining the fray. Inhaling deeply, Steve took off in a sprint, vaulting over overturned vehicles and broken bodies, his shield separating into two pieces as he engaged in the battle.

The frenzy of the fight wore on, the gray of the clouds unwavering as the rain continued to pelt all caught in the storm. At the far end, given a wide berth, was Thanos and the final threat to his power. The Sovereign was proving a worthy opponent, despite his youth and the tightness of his form. Lack of experience was making him lock up, stick to a rigid set of jabs and kicks in between blasts from the stone upon his head, and Thanos intended to use that against him. After all, it was becoming predictable. The Titan anticipated a left cross, snatching the Sovereign at the wrist while dodging. Wrenching hard, he flung the younger creature away, nearly burying him in the mud and muck of the planet's surface.

"Surrender," he demanded of the creature, raising his gauntlet. Letting a snide smirk twist his lips, he murmured, "The sooner you do so, the sooner you will be free of the torment."

The streaks of dirt and water crust along the Sovereign's face, but he still managed to right himself from the mess, his golden eyes narrowing in on his enemy.

"I think not," he spat, daring to take a step toward the Titan. Wiping the muck from his face, he let the bigger creature see the determination on his features, the unyielding rigor of his form. An eyebrow raised, the dawning look upon his face causing the Titan to pause. Taking in a slow breath, he nearly whispered, "I'm not the tormented one here, Thanos."

The gem upon his head lit up again, before Thanos could properly utilize his gauntlet, the squeezing upon his insides returning. Cutting off a harsh moan, it unbalanced him briefly, his red eyes flicking up...

A bronze and chrome city, towering spires built to last a millennium. A king, desirous of nothing but the good of his people, a queen lost to her own illness and torment. Two sons, one golden, the other sullied from birth. Taunts, jibes, insults morphing into whispers, fearful looks as he grew. Death following in his wake from cradle to school, from home to the worlds beyond. From settlement to settlement, there was nothing but fire and ash, loneliness and misery. And...no power. No power to change anything, no power to truly take what should have been his. He created his power, but it was not enough. Not enough for him. He needed it, craved it...until it ate away the last remnants of his soul, his home likewise turning to ash at his hands. Lives burning out in his quest, but never his own. He remained.

He remained, and soon enough, he would be the only thing that would remain. Him, and the power he sought. Power over nothing.

The bareness of his soul flashed before Thanos' eyes, the sudden realization jerking him out of his reverie. As understanding dawned, a white-hot rage built within him, a deep shriek forcing its way out of his throat as he looked upon the Sovereign, the dirty creature, who held the final stone.

Power was at hand, victory was at hand, and he would not wait any longer for it.

Renewing his assault upon the Sovereign, he all but ignored the other creatures at his command. The Kree and Chitauri still standing were making valiant efforts to maintain the fight, but it was clear from their slowly-dwindling numbers that they were in danger of losing their footing. Reinforcements had not arrived, and the two captains brought down at their master's behest were being run to ground (the great green menace had all but pulverized the larger one into the mud, and the human with the red hexes had paired with the one that could manipulate the earth to trap the other). However, Lord Thanos was refusing to call a retreat, and so they would not, so long as he drew breath.

The Avengers and their allies could see that much, conferring over the communication links about the lasting power of the forces gathered to Thanos' cause. Without their leader, it was unlikely they would continue to fight, but the Titan seemed an impregnable force. Twisting and slamming his shield down upon a Chitauri soldier, Steve raised his arms in time for Chapman to roll beside him, stating how open he was to ideas from the others as the Liverpudlian stood back-to-back with him.

"We gotta get that gauntlet off him," Lang called down the line, materializing seconds later at his leader's side. Deftly avoiding a sharp blow and cracking the Kree warrior in the face with his fist, he shook out his sore fingers and grunted, "No gauntlet, no power."

It was true; though Thanos was strong in his own right, what really had him keeping the pressure on them was his gauntlet. The ill-gotten stones solidified his power, and were they to remove it, it would make it all the easier to stop him once and for all. But how to do so? A blur of red and blue came crashing down beside them, Spider-Man's webs entangling a Kree and Chitauri together as he went. With two sharp tugs, he forced them to smash into one another, and then causing them to topple to the ground. Satisfied, he grunt, the young man lifting his head to look at his nearby fellows.

"Give me an opening, I can do it," Parker murmured, the earnestness in his voice unmistakeable. The pieces clicked into place in Rogers' mind, and he frowned. The move that the teenager was suggesting was risky, far riskier than any other stunt he'd pulled during the last several hours of fighting. However, it would not be as if he would be acting alone. It would take them, all of them, to get the damned thing off the Titan's limb, and they would see to it.

"Fine," Steve consented when no other ideas were brought forth. Pointing at the younger man, he commanded, "Stay alert, and move only when we give the signal."

"Okay," Parker agreed, before his head tilted to the side. His mask's eye lenses contracted then, giving him a befuddled air as he watched them start to go. "Wait, what signal?"

His question was ignored, the commander's hard voice calling out to the rest of the Avengers. Sighing, the teenager rotated his arms, tipping his head from side to side, and exhaling softly. He supposed it would be best to just follow and keep his eyes peeled. Within moments, the standing members of the world's elite task forces had surrounded the Titan, all his attention riveted upon the golden being fighting back. Catching the creature's eye, the gold fellow risked a fast look around, and immediately sprang away, narrowly avoiding another blast from the stone-encompassed gauntlet.

"Avengers, star point on Thanos!" Rogers hollered, the main team immediately conforming to the structured battle plan they'd developed long ago. It was meant for a greater-than-average threat, to corner and subdue the attacker by alternating attacks between the 'star points' (those at five cross areas) and those left in between. The deluge of assaults were supposed to disorient the enemy, and not allow him or her to really get a good lead on any of them since they would be going in and out quickly. The primary team members started the waving attacks, with Chapman's team bouncing after them. On and off they flooded Thanos, disks and blasts and hits showering him as much as the rain had. Fury boiled his fiery irises, and he struck back hard as well, catching one or two of them as the waving attack continued. The frustration, the indignation, was enough to get him to start swinging wildly, his gauntleted hand arching wide and high with nearly every go.

And in that, the advantage was spotted.

"Go, Spidey, go, go, go!" Tony shouted, his tinny voice at odds with the repulsors peppering the Titan's armor. Taking off into a full run, Peter Parker gathered his courage, pushing himself into a high leap, webs spinning and projecting from his wrist accoutrements. They snagged around the edges of the gauntlet, the metal jerked as he landed on the other side. Stalled, the Titan spotted his nimble adversary, and snarled. Not allowing him to do more than that, Parker wrenched hard, sparks flying where the metal pieces joined the main suit. Locked into the battle with him, he gulped hard when Thanos clenched his fist, the stones on the gauntlet brightening.

Two tiny, wired disks latched themselves onto the Titan then, secured by arrows that were starting to melt into the metal. Parker continued to hold on as Stark landed on the opposite side of the massive creature.

"Rhodey, expo blast," he cried, raising his own glove, repulsor light building in his palm. Rhodes landed on the opposite side, his palm burning bright. Suddenly, scarlet hexes appeared around the three, Wanda's eyes taken over by the shade as she held them in place. The whine and whir of the building power grew, and the blast of the Sovereign's stone joined them. Thor, raising a hand into the sky, used his own body as a conduit for the crackling electricity, his teeth gritted and his form shaking as he directed the lightning at Thanos. The Titan stiffened, more spells cast at him as Doctor Strange regained a measure of strength, a rivulet of blood dripping from his nose.

Soon enough, the repulsors were at maximum power, and Rhodey was the one to make the call.

"Take the shot!" he screamed, both he and Stark firing at the same time. The repulsor beams connected, collided, building up around the creature. Thumbing a button on his bow, Hawkeye activated the arrows, channeling extra power to the Widow's Bites Natasha had flung at him.

Taking in the amount of firepower about to explode, Rogers connected his shield again, a final directive given.

"Scatter!"

Within seconds, the beams, the arrowheads, and the Bites erupted, scorching white light blazing as they exploded. The earth trembled and shuddered underfoot, and those nearby were either knocked to the ground or barely managed to shelter themselves from the blast radius. The crack and rock of the ground lasted several seconds, the sounds and cries of the battle silenced for the barest moment.

The rain continued to fall, smoke rising from the new crater formed in the earth and veritably hissing. From the haze came the commander, somehow on his feet again, his ears ringing and his head pounding as he pushed himself up. Only a few had made it through the blast relatively unscathed: Rogers and Barnes made it through, as well as the good doctors (Bruce had been knocked back into his regular form, though, the dazed expression on his face saying it all), Thor, and Adam. Rhodey and Stark grunted in pain, barely managing to roll over and onto their knees, Tony pulling his helmet off and letting it fall into the mud.

And Peter Parker, Spider-Man, was breathing hard, prone on the ground...with the gauntlet attached to his webs.

The rest, even Wanda, were sprawled out in various states of consciousness, some altogether knocked out. Those would could do so tried to get to their feet, all of them edging close to the crater. And upon spying what was within, a shocked gasp ripped out of Rhodey's throat.

"How...how is he not dead?" he croaked, waving at the grounded Titan. The creature had not succumbed to the blast. Rather, he too was spread out upon his back, his armor broken into pieces around him, and his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths.

"Titan," Adam murmured, his word riding on the exhale and a shoulder shrugging. Titans were difficult to kill, and this one was one of the toughest of the lot. Still, he was weakened, and that had to count for something. A long, bellowing screech cut through the air then, unlike the cries and groans of the warriors and soldiers who had fallen before. All turned in time to see the blur of blue, blade raised and her dark eyes lit with mad fury. Gamora was right on her heels, reaching out to her as she ran right to the lip of the crater.

"Nebula, don't—" she screamed, halting as her adoptive sister flew down, her intent clear at that moment. Mantis came up behind Gamora, her antennae drooping and her hair plastered to the sides of her face as she wrapped her arms around her waist and held her back. Before Gamora could snap at her, or push her off, the guttural sound of punctured breathing echoed around them. Thanos had sat up, his bare hand tightening around Nebula's throat. Her blade had wedged between the remaining plates of his armor, sticking from his chest, and her hands closed around his thick wrist. The span of his fist went from base to chin, and he sneered as his grip constricted.

"Disappointments. Both of you," he growled in her face. Nebula grimaced at him, and glared with all the hatred that had festered in her heart for years.

"Not as much as you," she pronounced, the choke in her voice barely taking away from her strength. Huffing, Thanos raised his free hand, its shaking obvious as he wrenched the blade out and thrust it into her gut. The final reserve was drained, and he fell back, dropping Nebula as well. Gamora's furious wails pierced the air, and she shoved Mantis away, sliding down into the crater to her sister's side. It was too late, though, when she pulled Nebula into her lap and patted at her face. She was gone, her dark eyes staring into nothingness. Shuddering, the green-skinned female felt the raw, broken tear of another scream pull at her throat, the wetness on her face now a mix of tears and rain. Fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade, but she could not will herself to remove it. Around the lip of the crater, the fellows who had joined her in battle looked on, the sorrow left to stand for a few seconds.

Adam sighed heavily, weight upon his shoulders as he looked to Commander Rogers, his bright gaze holding seriousness and sympathy.

"He's weak, but he will not stay down for long," he relayed, nodding to the Titan as he lay there. Not even the additional stab had brought him to death, but he was still teetering along the edge of it. The commander inclined his head, his expression flinty.

"Well, we gotta figure out what to do with him, and fast," he replied, arching an eyebrow. The Sovereign nodded again, his jaw quirking as he considered possibilities. His gaze lingered upon Strange, jumping over to the one that had been called Scarlet Witch during the fight, his assessment of their abilities combining with his own presenting an idea.

"Doctor Strange," he said, drawing the other fellow's attention, "perhaps we could engender a solution."

Dark eyebrows inclined, and a corner of the sorcerer's mouth curved. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Adam canted his head, taking in another long inhale. "We shall see. Miss Maximoff, we need your aid as well."

The auburn-haired woman looked at him then, the redness in her eyes not abating as she nodded. Stepping forward, she clasped her hands together briefly before spreading them, a scarlet aura projected around the trio. As one, they moved down into the crater, the Witch's brother picking his way down after them. At a nod from his sister, he braced his hands along Gamora's arms, gently persuading her to stand. Numbly, she moved, the stiffness in her form not abating as she attempted to catch her breath. The Avengers above them watched as another portal seemed to open up, the nosebleed Strange had acquired earlier returning as he strained to keep it open. Adam stood at his side, the concentrated force of his stone lifting Thanos out of the mud and toward the portal. The blackness of the open sliver was enough to shake even the most hardened of soldiers, and the Avengers felt it as Wanda spread it wider, struggling against an invisible weight herself. With a final push with his hands, Adam sent Thanos into the void, the opening in space collapsing shortly afterward. Stephen Strange fell onto his bottom, swiping at his nose and coughing, Wanda wheezing beside him.

And then, they heard it. Or rather they didn't hear it: the battle coming to a total halt, the clangs and clashes of war dissipating in the wind.

With Thanos gone, it was as if a switch had been flicked. His gathered warriors froze in their fights, Kree and Chitauri alike halted by the absence of their leader. A low, final rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, the rain petering away and leaving them all in a stew of blood and mud, the human soldiers standing before them watching warily. The Titan had vanished, and the two captains, the ones he claimed as his children, were incapacitated. In seconds, weapons were thrown to the ground, the standing warriors running and shoving their way back to their pods and ships, desperate to avoid the onslaught of retaliation. Off a quick command from Rogers, the other conscious Avengers leaped forward, capturing a few for detainment before they could all get away.

Those who could not detain went about the work of attempting to rouse the others. Tony went to Parker, apologizing profusely for him getting caught in the blast, but the teenager merely coughed and shrugged, letting himself fall into unconsciousness afterward. Bucky found Natalia, her upper body collapsed over Clint's, a concussion blowing her pupils wide. The archer himself was unresponsive, with blood dripping from his ears, and suddenly calls were made to any medical services to be summoned, the full swing of sweeps being descended into.

Dusting off his dirtied silver hair, Pietro Maximoff sat on the lip of the crater, Wanda on one side and his girlfriend Crystal on the other, all three keeping silent vigil over the green-skinned female below. She'd taken her sister in her hold again, seeing and saying nothing. After a few moments, they were joined by Strange and the Sovereign, the pair of them holding the Infinity Gauntlet between them (like it was an unexploded bomb, the young man thought, grimly reminded of his personal knowledge with such a thing).

"Is he dead now?" Pietro asked soon enough, eyeing the spot where the portal had been mere moments before.

"He is somewhere where neither life nor death can touch him," Adam breathed, his voice reedy as he let his shoulders slump. Dipping his chin, he murmured, "A space between the spaces."

A silver eyebrow spiked. "Can he get free?"

"As unlikely as that is, he will be too weak to do anything beyond crossing the veil if he does," Stephen Strange pronounced, taking deep breaths as he sat upon the churned dirt of the field. Sweeping a hand back through his dark hair, he muttered sagely, "The hate consumed him until there was nothing left to consume."

The Enhanced fellow nodded, shifting uncomfortably as his ear piece crackled. The chatter seemed to be non-stop as Commander Rogers directed the captains and colonels of the National Guard to stand down, to let emergency transport find them and get to work quickly. The silence of his sister ate at him, and his girlfriend's sympathetic glances at her worsened it.

Clearing his throat, he dipped his chin at the gauntlet and inquired softly, "So what can be done about that?"

Adam's golden gaze was fastened to the object, his mouth turned into a harsh grimace. "It cannot be possessed by anyone here, myself included. Corruption and death are all it can give to its bearer."

Even so, the golden-skinned fellow reached for it, prizing one stone from its hold. Spotting the dented amulet it had been wrenched from several feet away, he went and retrieved that as well, barely flinching as he pushed it back into the center. The others tracked him as he strode over to Strange, crouching down beside him and proffering the reassembled amulet to him.

"You may have this back, doctor," he stated simply, the corner of his mouth barely lifting as the human male took it, a brief nod of thanks all he could give at the moment. Adam sighed then, his golden gaze flicking back to the gauntlet, and then away again. "But..."

It was then that Wanda stirred, her exhaustion and sorrow driving her to wonder bluntly, "What?"

The Sovereign exhaled slowly, going to her side and laying his hand upon her shoulder.

"The creature, the one who gave his life in the fight..." he trailed off, looking over to where the Vision had fallen earlier. He had been gathered up by his fellows, his cape used as a shroud as they brought him away from his place of death. Jerking his head to the gauntlet, where the Infinity Stone that had been affixed to him for three years now was, Adam relayed, "If the stone is given back to him, he will not be as he was. All his memories, all his deeds and actions, will be nothing to him. Some behaviors may remain, but he would be a blank slate."

Green, red-rimmed eyes widened at the implications. It would, in essence, be a factory reset for the Vision, and there was nothing that could be done to reverse it. The golden-skinned creature was not ignorant of the human female's outburst over the android's demise; the aftershocks were still thrumming through the air, cutting him to the quick and feeding into the deep sorrows of his own heart. She cared for him, loved him, and deserved to at least consider the options before them. Unpleasant as they could potentially be.

"He would just be. But there is hope, hope to rebuild." He raised a hand, stemming any response that sat on the tip of her tongue, and warned, "I caution you, though, that this may not be successful. He...we might not be able to bring him back at all."

Wanda's gaze fell to her knees, the thoughts in her head causing the very air around her to crackle and pulse. It would be a reset, but...it would still be him, deep down. They could have what they had again, over time. It could happen...

Pietro reached for his sister's hand, threading his fingers with her cold ones. "Wanda?"

It could happen, or it couldn't, but they wouldn't know until they tried. Two drops of tears fell down her face as she looked up at Adam again, sucking in a deep breath and squeezing her brother's hand in return.

"...Please," she murmured simply, waiting only until the Sovereign dipped his chin and turned to the gauntlet again before she slid away. Down into the crater she went, seating herself beside Gamora, neither female saying a word as the distant shouts and commands of the victors echoed in the air.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that for Thanos. Maybe it's anticlimactic, maybe it's not what you thought, but trust me, I was glad to get it to this point.

The major battle has been fought...and won. It is...so good to finally get to this point! I had to split the chapter, so the remaining action—meaning the wrap-up of what happened out in space, the status of the Avengers' members, etc., will be coming soon. Hopefully within the next day or two. Please be patient until then!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	17. Chapter 17

The M-ship floated just above the surface of the earth, just beyond its pull. The blue and green were occasionally obscured with wispy, white puffs of clouds, but it otherwise appeared unmarred. Peter Quill stared out the cockpit window at it, knowing how much more dwelled upon the surface. Just like they had, those upon the surface were warring, fighting, and no word had come about whether a victor had been declared or not.

The battle in the stars had been fought, and after dismantling many of the larger vessels, it appeared that the Guardians of the Galaxy, plus the Ravagers, had gotten the edge over their foes. It all seemed like such a blur, the whir of firepower and screeching machines in his ears even after the lead ship had taken off, the fleeing vessel drawing in a good number of its followers. One by one, all those who had been left to fight either found escapes as well, or fell to their fire. Now, all was quiet. All that was left was them, the debris slowly being pulled into the earth's atmosphere, and their would-be allies. The communication line crackled to life then, breaking him out of his reverie.

The rough, gravelly voice of Stakar Ogord echoed around him, the low reverberations of his tone resonating as he chuckled darkly. "Looks like you made it through, Quill."

Quill, sharing a quick look with Rocket, sniffed once and grunted, "Same with you, it seems."

"This time, yeah," the clan leader noted wryly, unknowingly causing the corner of Peter's mouth to quirk upward. A long, low breath came over the line, and he continued, "Looks like there were a few runners, likely they won't stop moving for a few jumps at least. The lead ship got away."

"It was headed by an ally," Rocket cut in then, recalling Gamora's call mid-battle and her assurances that Thanos would not be piloting the ship once she and their compatriots were off it. A barking scoff shot out of Stakar.

"Sure about that? It took out a few of our men."

Another fast glance, and then Peter coughed once. "Ally by necessity. You gonna go after them?"

Darkness seemed to flow over the line in the silence, the heaviness and the toll that had been upon the Ravagers' shoulders since the mess began all too apparent in that instant.

"We haven't been fully compensated for our losses. Us, and others as well," the Ravager captain remarked, the promise within the words unmistakeable. A rustle came from the other end, lending credence to Peter's supposition that he had just shrugged. "Plus, I'm not up for dealing with Terrans any extended length of time. Should be a breeze for you, though."

Briefly, Peter's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, the reminder that he would likely have to land on the planet at some point in the near future upon him then.

"I...if you—" he started, about to offer the other fellow something, anything, to stick around and help with whatever the humans below requested, but the flicker of metal and thrusters passed the cockpit then. One by one, the Ravagers' ships were starting to turn, disappear from sight. The flagship remained for a few seconds, another low laugh crackling over the communication line.

"See you around, Guardians. Tell the Sovereign we're borrowing his crew for awhile," Ogord stated matter-of-factly, the click of the cut-off resounding next. Within minutes, his ship was gone as well, and the Guardians merely sat there, Groot muttering and Rocket retorting that of course the Ravagers would cut and run before needing to report to any other form of authority. Quill was all but mute, his bright gaze focused out the window again, deep breaths filling his chest. Thought swirled in his mind, all going far too fast for him to properly analyze and categorize them. A tug came at his sleeve, two tugs, and then a slap on the shoulder finally roused him from his mind. Groaning, he clutched at the appendage, glaring up at Drax in rebuke. The bigger fellow shrugged a shoulder, tipping his head to the reopened comm line, the light beside it blinking.

"Peter, someone signaling us. Should we answer the call?"

For a split second, Peter wanted to say no. He wanted nothing more than to turn the _Milano_ around and jettison back through the jump, leaving the planet and its inhabitants behind. However, he also knew how selfish and cowardly the thought was. One he was never allowed to be, and the other...well, the other he couldn't be. Not anymore. Not when his allies, his friends, were waiting for him on the surface. Swallowing hard, he dipped his chin at Drax.

"...Yeah."

Tapping at the console, the Sovereign's voice filled the cockpit next, congratulating them on their survival and imploring them to land at the earliest opportunity they could. The battle on the planet was over, the war was won. And they were expected. Coordinates were sent on, and Quill felt the lump in his throat build as he guided the ship down, nestling it into an area of the country he'd not seen in over twenty years.

The greens and browns of the earth grew ever-larger as they approached, the clouds of the sky morphing more into a gray. Passing through the haze, his stomach dropped bit by bit, though it had nothing to do with the landing itself as the came to rest in a mud-entrenched field. Taking a few deep breaths in the cycling of the ship, he caught the fast look Rocket shot him, the creature's gaze darting to the glass after being spotted. Shaking hands snapped off the harness, and the human male stood. Going toward the back hatch, he chose to leave his great coat behind. His weapons, too, were left in their place, along with his mask. He wouldn't need them there, not at the moment. Depressing a button and flipping open a latch, he waited as the ramp opened up, the other Guardians standing just behind him.

The smell of dirt and rain wafted up to Peter, the humidity floating over them. Behind him, he could hear Groot's groan, but whether it was in appreciation or frustration, he didn't know. There was no time to ask, either, as he forced his feet down the ramp and out the hatch. The squelch of the land swallowing at his boots, and he felt the wash of the air over him, the sense of feeling he hadn't gotten on any other planet he'd traversed. Blinking, he took in the sight of numerous white tents, camouflaged soldiers sidling between a few, hundreds of voices milling about as several gawked at the Guardians' arrival.

The fast, slick slide of pounding boots resounded to the right, and he pivoted, watching with widening eyes as Mantis charged ahead. With barely a nod given to the others, she threw herself at Drax, her arms winding around his neck and her face burying itself into his shoulder. The Destroyer's own eyes had snapped shut, his jaw quirking as he jerkily began to pat her back, relaxing into her embrace as the seconds passed. Sighing, Peter glanced away from them, skimming to the female left standing.

"Gamora," he breathed, looking at the beauty before him. She took a step closer, and despite the stoicism of her expression, the rimming red of her eyes gave her away.

"Peter. Welcome home," she murmured, flapping a hand almost dismissively to the planet. He dipped a nod, his heart stuttering when he heard the almost inaudible grunt in her throat. Pain, she was in pain. Looking at the devastation of the field, of the tents and the distant cries echoing, he cleared his throat, finding his courage once again. An arm slipped around Gamora's waist, and the pair walked together, their companions trailing after them as they went to the largest one at the far end. Her head was leaned upon his shoulder, fingers grasping tightly in his shirt, and he found himself nearly whispering promises that everything was okay now, they would be okay.

Sparse raindrops dotted them as they went, but the sky withheld its tears, spent upon the land as they had been earlier.

 **xXxXxXx**

Joe Chapman, Union Jack and leader of the secondary team of the Avengers, rolled over in his issued bed, staring at the harsh numbers of the clock. He'd been up for a few hours, but he'd been unwilling to move. After the battle to the death the day before, and the injuries he'd sustained—several cuts and bruises littering his body—he had fallen into bed, intent on resting. Too much weighed upon his mind, and soul, and so the scant few hours he got were supplemented by him staring into the darkness, into the nothingness.

The arrival of the aliens that had been their allies barely blipped on the radar for him, his focus elsewhere in those few hours before sleep. He was a little shocked to see a human among them (evidently he was a good ol' boy from Missouri, whatever that meant, or so he'd been told by Stark), but beyond the clearly bizarre aspects, he couldn't bring himself to be bothered by them. They worked in conjunction with the other two who had come with Rogers, aiding and assisting where needed on the ground. It was well after dark, the wee hours of the morning, when the majority of those who'd remained on the ground were brought up to the helicarrier, their injured cohorts having been brought up well beforehand.

Much as he wished to stay abed, wallow in the sorrow and the hurt, he knew he could not do so. More to the point, he was not built to do so. Pushing back against the sick slide and churn of his gut, he winced as he pushed back the covers, the light in the quarters slowly rising as he did. Shuffling over to the meager bathroom facilities (and washing in one of the coldest showers he'd ever experienced), he dressed himself, the scruff he'd acquired ignored as he placed one foot in front of the other. He had somewhere to be, and it would not do to be late. Leaving the wings dedicated to the sleeping quarters, he hopped the onboard tram, passing over the massive hold housing the unused lifeboats and additional vehicle below to get to the administrative side of the carrier.

A meeting had been called by Representative Hawley, though he mused churlishly that he would be unlikely to speak much. She had far more to say to Rogers, to Fury, than him most days, and at least that time, it would play to his advantage. All he had to do was get through it; then perhaps he could get the team members who were well enough, and head back home. See to the affairs there, and then...

His trail of thought ran out as he turned around a corner of the last hallway, his bright gaze widening as he spied a woman chatting briefly with Director Hill. Her dark brown gaze darted away from her companion to him, her pink lips bowing into a slight smile, but her stance remaining rigid. Fingers tightened around a briefcase in her hand, and her hip jutted slightly. Noticing this, Maria glanced over her shoulder, understanding dawning in her irises. Murmuring something unintelligible to his ears, Hill nodded to her companion, patting her arm once before disappearing down the hall. Left alone, save for the few agents wandering at either end of the hall, Joe stared at the young woman, getting his fill of her.

"Agent Carter," he greeted her, daring to punctuate it with a slight wink.

"Mister Chapman," she returned, maintaining the cool facade for several seconds before she dropped her bag to the ground and strode up to him. Joe opened his arms wide, sweeping his girlfriend into his embrace as soon as she got close enough. The clean, citrus scent of her warmed him, his nose going into her blonde locks and a sigh rising from deep within him. Her slender fingers carded through his hair, her lips planting soft pecks to the curve of his jaw up to his ear. Deep emotion thickened her voice as she whispered, "Thank God you're alright."

"Never better, love. Never better," he promised her, the smirk he had on his lips dying as he drew back. Spying the light sheen of water in her eyes, he shook his head at once, bending to give her a hard, deep kiss. It felt so good, like he'd finally come home, he mused when they parted seconds later, his forehead bracing against hers for several moments. Eventually, he pulled back again, looking into her brown gaze and quirking an eyebrow. "What are you doing here? Thought Maria Hill had you behind six-inch steel walls and buried somewhere remote."

Following his glance down the empty hall, Sharon chuckled.

"Until yesterday. Got a request to come in, with clearance to leave," she said, the words filling and healing a part of Joe's heart. Ever since the wanker Ross had tried to weasel his way in again, ever since the threat he posed bordered upon nearly trying to detain those connected to Avengers' members, she had been in hiding, the shield of her work drawn over her and keeping her out of contact for the last several weeks. To hear that it was at an end was a balm to him, especially then. Noting the layer of pride in her gaze, he let an eyebrow rise at it, and she bent to pick up her briefcase. "I'm acting as my section's representative for the meeting this afternoon. The CIA is intent on brokering a better alliance now. Only took another world catastrophe, but it'll be worth it."

The smirk on his lips became all the more genuine in that instant. "Be seeing more of you, then."

"If all goes as planned, I might be stationed in London next," she affirmed. Tilting her head to the side, she dared to tease, "Too close?"

Joe shook his head, arms winding around her and pulling her flush against him. "Hardly."

Bending his head, their lips had barely brushed one another's when a loud, obviously clearing throat resounded from behind them. Looking up in disgust, it only faded slightly when Joe realized it was Steve standing there, arms crossing over his chest and a faint frown of disapproval on his features. Likely it had nothing to do with them personally, and so Chapman squashed down the residual annoyance lacing through him.

The blond man tipped his head backward, gesturing to the other end of the hall. "Whenever you two are ready to join us, we'll be in the conference room near the main office."

Sharon drew back from him then, but one hand reached down and laced with his as she nodded. "Yes, Commander."

Rogers, catching the light rebuke that was in her tone, merely let out a soft sigh, nodding to each of them and pivoting, his shoulders tightening as he walked away. Sharon and Joe shared a glance, both of them catching the commander brushing his thumb over his wedding ring as he went, but neither commented.

Hand in hand, they followed him to the conference room, the pair of them finding seats rather easily. Chairs were open all around the table, given that a good number of their compatriots were still either recovering or being treated at the moment. Steve took place at the head of the table, nodding to them both as they came in. Fury, along with Directors Coulson and Hill, sat on the far side, each of them palming tablets and perusing them swiftly. James Barnes was on the left, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as Tony Stark plopped down beside him. T'Challa entered behind him, coming around to sit beside Chapman and Sharon, his calm demeanor dampening the crackle in the air as they waited for the lines to connect. Wanda Maximoff sat alone at the other end, fingers tugging through her auburn hair and her eyes seeing nothing (Pietro was on the ground, helping see to the needs of the National Guard soldiers and assisting Pepper Potts-Stark's R.E.S.C.U.E. team in whatever way he could, Crystal with him). It was only after Doctor Strange, Doctor Banner, and Thor came into the room that the lines connected, the high definition display lighting up and revealing the person on the other end. Representative Hawley was there, her typical appearance somewhat skewed. She was showing the wear she was enduring on her end over the last day, her jacket removed and the sleeves of her blouse pushed up over her elbows. Her reading glasses were nestled atop her head, bouncing a little when she nodded and greeted them all.

"Thank all of you who were able to participate in this meeting," she began, shifting in her chair and clasping her hands atop her desk. Papers were littered atop it, her own tablet turned on and waiting along the far edge. Clearing her throat, she continued, "This is strictly for assessment purposes only, and the agenda will be focused upon our team's various states of being, and how best to work with what has happened to build ourselves up again. Just because you have neutralized one threat, does not mean others are not out there waiting for you."

The clarification of the meeting's purpose, along with the reminders of the dangers still out there, sat heavily with them all. Inclining his head, Bucky was the first to answer her.

"Yes, ma'am," he breathed, not willing to brook any argument with Hawley. The older woman let out a long sigh then, visibly bracing herself for the first round.

"Very well." With her hands now flat upon the desk top, she asked softly, "What is the full status of members, and junior members?"

The room went intensely quiet, the silence speaking volumes. However, Commander Rogers cleared his throat, his face set into an expressionless mask while sorrow jumped into his irises. Slowly, carefully, he pronounced each and every hurt done to their team members, the weight of each one pressing upon him almost visibly.

Duquesne was dead, cornered by a contingent of Kree that showed him no mercy (Chapman's eyes closed at that, Sharon's fingers lacing with his under the table). Synapse had done her best to avenge him, as he'd often been her fighting partner, but she too came to great injury. She was now laid up in the infirmary, veritably catatonic and lost in her mind as her body healed. Nebula, their herald and their erstwhile ally, was also dead, along with a few of T'Challa's compatriots. (The king of Wakanda met his sideways glance stoically, though a tear beaded at the corner of one eye.) Many of the others were in critical condition after the nearly seismic blast, Parker, Romanoff, and Bishop being among the worst hit. The Defenders had held their own well enough, but Murdock and Rand were in intensive treatment for their sustained injuries, Jones and Cage refusing to leave their fellows. And Barton...the doctors had just reported that morning that, along with lacerations and broken ribs, had lost at least eighty-five percent of his hearing. Numerous agents under the command of the three directors had also been lost and injured, a separate list of them compiled for Hawley's later perusal.

The older woman nodded, somehow able to keep her countenance calm in the face of the toll taken. A slow, low breath was taken, and she glanced away for the barest moment, closing her eyes briefly. All too soon, though, she was composed again, her voice even enough for her to ask her next question.

"And the Vision?" she inquired, hands folding atop the stack of papers before her. The android's difficulties had been reported to her long before the meeting had started. The creature's status as the bearer of an Infinity Stone had been disclosed to her well before the battle had taken place, and the fact that he was not only beaten, but had his stone removed and therefore his life taken, was not one that could be withheld. Attention turned toward the left side of the table, to those who had been charged with bringing him back. Adam was not there, as he was reluctant to be part of a meeting pertaining to the affairs of the humans (the Guardians joining him as well), but the remaining four glanced at one another. Thor, Tony, Bruce, and Stephen Strange looked to one another, and the god let out a low sigh, disappointment etched upon his face.

"We have tried, but..." he trailed off, his gaze dropping to the edge of the table. Across from him sat Wanda, the young woman likewise looking away from the others. Red rimmed her eyes, though it was due to tears rather than to her own powers, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. Bruce Banner raked a hand back through his shortened curls, shaking his head.

"Thor's been pouring lightning into the Cradle, and we keep implementing the back-up protocols Tony had for him, but he's not…turning on, I guess," he explained to the others as well as Hawley. Helen Cho had come in, heading the team of doctors and nurses bent to taking care of the injured, but the Vision was her sole responsibility. The only reason she was not present at the meeting was due to the fact that she was still standing watch over the Cradle, the dying hope of aiding the creature she'd helped formed years ago still holding her there.

Chapman raised an eyebrow, surprised by that news. "Internal damage, maybe?"

Stark shook his head, arms crossing and fingers tapping along his bicep. "We did scans. The vibranium absorbed a good number of the blows, so the inward operations are technically still able."

"There's just nothing in there anymore," Bruce said, the fatigue and defeat within him bleeding out little by little. "I can't make heads or tails of it, and we've been running tests for hours."

Stephen Strange cleared his throat, looking directly at the screen and announcing, "There is no will within him to return, and so we cannot force it. If we do, we run the danger of creating another Ultron."

"He would not want that." All heads in the room turned to Wanda, her thin voice veritably echoing in the space. Her green eyes shone with a fresh wave of tears, but she turned away, refusing to let them fall. In the end, the final call had been left to her, the android's lover. She had no desire or wish for him to remain gone, but she had spent the last night agonizing over the increasing chance that he would not come back to her. The hope that Adam had ignited was fading, and even though it ripped her apart inside, she recognized that she could not force such a thing. Adam's stone held sway over souls and...he had no sway over an empty shell. If the final tests were unsuccessful, she'd given them permission to cease attempts to revive him. He could become something else, could become what he'd fought against, and the Vision she knew would not wish to live were that the case.

It still broke her, though, and she brought a palm up over her face, shielding the tears that dripped out. Thor came up behind her chair, his hands upon her shoulders and rubbing gently in commiseration, intense regret and sorrow on his face.

Taking pity on the young woman, Hawley kept her tone gentle as she spoke again.

"Very well. For the moment, the Vision will be kept in stasis until he can be revived safely." As that fell in line with Wanda's decision, none of them spoke against it, nor enlightened Hawley to it. Instead, they listened as she went on, "As stated earlier, this meeting is meant to be an assessment, and a way to shore up our own defenses until the Avengers' teams can be back in working order. I propose that another round of recruitment happen by the end of August, strengthening the rosters."

It was hardly surprising that such a thing was being put into motion, and none of them would nay-say it. Thought Thanos had been dealt with, it had become clear that, as the universe around them was truly expanding now, with allies in the stars as well as enemies, it would not do to keep the teams at the relatively low numbers they were sitting at. Particularly as there were vacancies for some of the posts. Additional base locations were discussed, including the west coast of the United States, one somewhere in Africa, and another in Australia. Moving onto gaining even wider support, Hawley shifted her gaze to where Agent Carter was sitting. The blonde woman dipped her chin, sliding the prepared packets she'd taken out of her bag across the table for the others' perusal.

"The CIA has been granted permissions to aid more fully in the cause of the Avengers, along with other similar organizations." Pointing at the map in the front of the packet, her finger darted over London, Lisbon, and the Ukraine, she murmured, "We are to be stationed here, here, and here for the moment, with specialist groups assigned to meet with you all at points in the future."

Hawley sat up straighter in her chair, flicking a few fingers in the air, moving onto the next point. "Authorization has been granted to Directors Fury, Coulson, and Hill to take in a new influx of agents at their assigned bases and carriers. I expect new recruitment batches to begin by early September?"

Fury shared a look with his fellow directors, and then nodded. "Once we've combed through files and have done our own assessments, that should be the start date."

Quiet descended upon the gathered group then, none of them ready to acknowledge that they had reached the end of discussion points. When they left the room, they would split off to different duties, but the harrowing nature of the last several days (months, really) and the consequences of it all sat upon them, freezing them. Their United Nations representative exhaled quickly, tucking some of her silvered blond strands behind her ear.

"Anything else?" she inquired. Shaking heads were her answer, and she nodded once. "Very good."

Rogers shifted in his seat, opening his mouth to send her a final farewell on their behalf, but he was stalled when Hawley pushed the papers and her tablet to the side, her glasses dropped atop them. The calm mask she'd worn throughout the meeting fell away, the deep emotion in her eyes and face suddenly on display.

"Let me take a moment to speak as myself, and not just as your representative," she said, inhaling deeply before spreading her hands palm up, supplication and gratitude flooding through her. "Words cannot express my own personal gratitude and thankfulness for your efforts over the last several years, and particularly with this new threat. Ever single one of you has gone beyond what was expected of you, and have done so for no personal rewards and sometimes even without thanks." Her bright eyes lingered over each and every one of them, the effect of her thanks shaking them all to their cores. "So, if nobody else does so, let me at least tell you: thank you. All of you. Your courage and your strength has saved us all, and your sacrifices will not be in vain. I can promise you that."

A last look was shot to Wanda, the younger woman swallowing a gulp of air and meeting her gaze directly. Fury, stunned as well, came out of his surprise first, resting his hands on the table and nodding to her. She had gone from being staunchly against the formation of the Avengers to their greatest advocate, and her feelings were strong, even if they were often hidden below the surface. He would never forget her gratefulness, and he resolved to make sure, personally, that she would have no cause to regret it in the future.

"...You're welcome, Pamela," he replied simply, his voice breaking the spell that had held them all still. Hawley's lips tugged at the corners, and with a final incline of the head, the high definition display on her end went dark. For the longest moment, none of them moved from their chairs. Indeed, it hardly seemed like any of them had breathed, the gravity of what had happened, and what was to come, keeping them there.

It took Maria Hill standing, brushing down the skirt of her business dress, before the others would even shift. And it took her following pronouncement for them to continue on with their duties, the business of the world returning to their shoulders.

"Meeting adjourned."

 **xXxXxXx**

Clint Barton sat upright in his bed, hands knotting on and off in the blankets encompassing his legs. A mute, distant thrum rang in his ears, had done so since he'd been roused from unconsciousness. The thrum was all that remained of his hearing, the doctors telling him through gestures and electronic texting that it was unlikely that any amount of surgery could give it back to him. Even Helen Cho, flown in from the base to head the recovering Avengers' treatments, could not do much more for him. Though the Cradle was advanced, working to mend rent and wrecked tissue, it was not finite enough to aid in the damage to his ears. He was, unfortunately, on his own for that one.

Of course, he had not thought of the implications when he first awoke. No, he spent his first hour numb and in shock, snapping his fingers on and off in a weak attempt to check himself, to make sure it was real. It was all too real, and surreal. He could feel the movement of his fingers, the rub of his callouses as they crashed together, but the sound was not really there, no more than a blip and his own memory of such a sound filling in the gaps. The sharp tugs of the stitches in his sides, the bruises still healing along his spine and abdomen, paled in comparison to the horror that came upon him when he thought about losing one of his most important senses. As an archer, his sight was key, but sound assisted in that.

What good would he be at firing arrows now? How would he be able to face his wife—who had been informed by the doctors the day previously before they brought him in for treatment—and know he would not hear anything but the barest whisper of her voice? What of his children? As they grew, he'd never know what tones they would adopt, come up with.

He bowed his head, teeth grinding as his fingers knotted some more. A shift in the air came them, wafting over him, the smell of cologne and heavily-applied aftershave nearly smacking him in the face, and he glanced up, blinking at the unexpected visitor. Tony Stark was there, looking exhausted—par for the course after any mission or battle, he noted dully—but also pleased. Almost too pleased, which had the sandy-haired man narrowing his eyes at him.

Closing the door behind him, Stark lifted a hand in a a wave, the other held purposefully behind his back.

"Hey, Legolas," he mouthed, Clint watching his lips as he spoke. Which was no mean feat, given how fast the billionaire generally spoke, but he got the gist of it. Hawkeye spiked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing in response. The brunet man put his palm out in placation, his mouth forming, "I know, I know, you can't understand much, but—"

"Just because I can't hear, doesn't mean I don't understand you being a little shit," Barton piped up then, rolling his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, his voice was slightly louder, and rougher, than he intended it to be. When Tony flashed him an incredulous look, he rolled his eyes again, though a brief smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Spy, remember? Means learning alternate methods of getting information if needed."

Stark shook his head then, and he didn't doubt the other man might have snorted, too.

"Should've figured you could lip read. Still, I have something for you."

The last few words were tripped up for Barton, going by too fast for him to read them properly. So he sat up straighter, leaning in a bit to keep his focus.

"You have what?" he asked slowly, hoping to lead the tech genius by example. Taking that as an invitation, the fellow strode forward, the opened flaps of his flannel shirt billowing as he sat down. Almost eagerly, he leaned in his seat, the hand he'd been hiding behind his back coming forward.

"I have these for you," he stated carefully, opening his palm to reveal what he was holding. Barton blinked again; they appeared to be like the comm links the others placed in their ears before missions. Like he'd used to, he thought bitterly, and he flicked a somewhat cold look at Tony. The brunet man flinched slightly at the harshness, but he seemed undeterred. He held them out insistently, not relenting until Clint took up the pieces and did what he thought would be correct. Once they were wedged into his ear canals, he witnessed Tony pull a small remote out of his shirt pocket, an apologetic look on his face for a few seconds. Before he could question it, the archer felt the amalgamated metal and wire pieces suddenly buzz and whir, the jarring effect of them starting to burrow into his head making him thrash about in panic. Seconds passed, and the miniature torture was over, his gasping breaths rattling in his chest as he glared at Tony once again. The billionaire moved his thumb to a wheel along the front, and the hammering pound of his heart was slowly replaced by trickles of whirs. Distant beeps of the monitors beside him came to life, and Stark's own voice, which had been nothing more than a memory in the minutes preceding, was almost a low hum.

Since everyone's convalescing, I had a bit of time to kill," he said, the third word tripping his friend up. His thumb stopped on the wheel, his dark gaze sweeping over him in question. "How's this?"

Struggling to get the swirl of his mind under control, Barton dipped his chin. "I can...a little fuzzy."

"Hang on, let me fiddle with this," the tech genius muttered, the wheel turned up several notches higher. A snarky, sly smile came over him, and he snapped his thumb back and forth between two settings. "Is number one or number two better?"

Barton shook his head, wonderment and annoyance warring for dominance within him.

"Gah, two lets me hear your damn heartbeat," he grunted, the sudden awareness dawning on him then. The monitors at his side could be heard with sharp clarity, the quick breaths sucked up through Stark's nose underneath it. The fear of the last two days was fading, and he could barely hang onto the new-found hope inside him. "I can hear."

Stark nodded, the satisfaction from before resurfacing then. With the work on the Vision stalling, he'd spent the time in which he wasn't monitoring the Cradle examining his friend's file. The doctor's notes he'd lifted from Cho (seriously, did she really think six password protections would keep him out, especially after the official report was given on Barton's condition?) had given him an idea of the damage, and he set himself to work. Busy hands, happy hands, as his mother used to say—paraphrased, of course, but he wasn't about to knock it. He worked into the small hours, when calls to Pepper were not possible, and when sleep eluded him, crafting and reworking an old set of comm links from storage, and only just today did he find them to be adequate for Clint's use.

"We can fully implant them, which means another surgery, or you can stick with them as hearing aids," he told him, finally resting fully in the chair, pleased with the sight of Barton's resurging happiness. Lifting a shoulder, he murmured, "More of a chance that they could come out, but it's your choice."

"No more surgery," Clint replied swiftly, the look on his face speaking volumes at the idea. After a minute or two, he grinned, the genuine nature of it clear. "Guess you'll just have to put up with customer service calls from me if anything goes wonky."

The billionaire inclined his chin. "I can do that."

A tap came at the door, and both men looked up as it slid open. Barnes was there, pushing a wheelchair before him. Perched upon the seat, wrapped up in a hospital gown and blankets herself, was Natasha, the numerous scrapes and cuts along her jaw and neck slowly starting to heal. Her red curls had been pulled back, our of her face, though Bucky did reach up and tuck a stray strand behind her ear before propelling her further into the room. She had come through her own treatments earlier in the day, and she extracted a promise from her fella to see her closest friend. The visit was meant to be the highlights of their mutually disgruntled days, but Clint was altogether lighter than he had been when he first agreed to see them. The corner of his mouth twitched, and Stark, noticing it, took it upon himself to greet them first. He rose from his seat, bending and gingerly hugging the redhead before nodding once at Barnes. The chilly civility between the two was present as ever, but they did not allude to it in the slightest. It was not the time, or the place. Instead, Barnes nodded back, pushing his girl's chair to the other side of the bed.

"Hey, old man," Natasha croaked, her throat a little hoarse still from the lack of use. Bucky's flesh hand rested upon her shoulder, and his metal one came up in a wave. Barton returned it, reaching out for Romanoff's extending hand and squeezing it.

"Hey, yourself," he replied gently, his brow screwing up for a moment as a light wheezing pierced his ears. Pinpointing what it was and where it had come from, he glanced up at the new captain. "Jesus, Barnes, didn't realize how much of a mouth breather you are."

Mouth snapping shut automatically, Barnes' brow furrowed as his words hit home. Natasha stared at him, blinking slowly at what he was implying.

"They, they told us..." she started, eyeing him with suspicion, and hope. Barton's grin cracked then, the smile it became brightening up the room. Unable to resist, he tapped near his ear, telling them of the gift Tony had just imparted upon him. Joking about slowly becoming the Six Million Dollar Man, Clint's relief was all too palpable, and Natasha could not help but feel it for him, too. Sensing his work to be done for the moment, the tech genius turned the remote in his hand off, the setting good enough to be left alone at the moment.

"Call me if you need anything recalibrated," Stark said softly, a last smile and handshake exchanged with Barton. His gaze flicked up to Barnes, lingering along the metal appendage attached to him. It was ticking at the wrist and elbow, the shift of the plating obvious to him. Catching the inquiring look in the man's cornflower gaze, he dipped his chin once at him as well. Leaving the others to their visit, and to ponder the implications of what had been done, he turned down the corridor, the resolve to try and call Pepper before crashing out rattling through his mind as he went.

 **xXxXxXx**

Steve Rogers balanced his hands on the bowl of the sink. Upon the helicarrier once more, he found himself having a free moment in his quarters, catching his breath after the losses and atrocities of the last few days.

It been nearly two months since he and the others had gone to Asgard, had attempted to stop Thanos. Nearly two months had gone by, the pain and suffering inside compounded by the outside, and it all roiled through him as he stared without seeing. Early June had arrived, warmth coming to some portions of the planet, winter to others, and he could barely comprehend the passage of the time.

His gaze darted up, staring at the cut of his hair. Matted blood and mud could not be removed from the lengthened locks entirely, and so he'd gone to Kay Szymik (when she and Sam could be separated for longer than a few moments), asking for her help with the matter. She'd done her best, having some experience in that field for herself, and to be honest, it wasn't terrible. What he'd come away with was not the flop of blond he'd sported until he'd come out of the ice, nor was it the shortened fan atop his head that he had when he first met Holly. It was something in between, shortened sides with lengthened strands atop, able to be pushed into a part or combed back.

A hand scrubbed along his jaw before falling away again, the whiskers threatening to grow longer. There hadn't been time to tend to himself over the last few days. There was so much to do, with the allies still on-planet and the United Nations forming committees to hear all sides of the story. It was eating up all hours of the day, it seemed, and hardly anyone had been able to breathe, to think beyond what had happened. He'd barely been allowed a moment, but ever spare one he got, he was calling Holly's cell phone, letting her know he was alive, that he was okay, that he was trying his best to get to her soon. They just had to make it through. Like he'd been telling himself since the whole wretched thing began, he just had to make it through the heartache and the hurt.

The losses and the toll, the weight upon him pushing him down...the pain, the horror of the slab, of the Red Skull...all fought for prominence in his mind, but he pushed back, replacing them with images of his wife, his boy, his family ever-growing. It was what had allowed him to make it through the torture sessions with his mind intact, and it would get him through that moment.

Lines creased his forehead as he continued to stare at himself, eyes squinting as he tilted his head to the left. All the hours of the day, taken from him...all those days passed, lost, gone...

No, no more. He'd reached his decision, and he would act upon it.

Hands came up, opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and dug through the contents. Shaving cream and a straight razor came to hand (bless whoever had supplied that bathroom with his preferred grooming tools), and soon enough, he carved his beard away. The last remnants of hair along his cheeks and jaw were gone within minutes, leaving behind the clean look he'd had for years beforehand. However, while he looked fresh-faced, he knew the truth. It was all too clear in his tired irises, the ice in them brittle as he leaned forward and examined himself one last time. A couple nicks here and there, easily aided by a couple toilet paper squares, and it was as if the last few months had never been. Again, he knew that wasn't true, and so put the thought aside.

Heading back into the sleeping area, he fetched up the single bag that had been stored beneath the bed, bringing it up and letting it rest open on the mattress. All the clothes he'd had in the room had been forwarded to him via donation (some agents had taken it upon themselves to get the Avengers properly dressed in things other than their uniforms), but at that moment, he did not care. So long as he had something to change into over the next day or two, he would be fine. The toiletries were grabbed next, practically thrown in with the rest, but it did not matter to him. The zipper on the bag was drawn shut just as the door to his quarters opened. He huffed out a groan, but did not turn around; why was it that nobody ever knocked, he wondered? Even if it was an automatic door, it still stood to reason that people should be polite.

In any case, the door was shut with a light thump, and he heard the fast intake of breath. His spine stiffened, but he still scooped up the jacket that had been given to him, slinging it over his arms as he felt the assessing gaze of the arrival slide over him.

"Heading out, Rogers?" Maria Hill's voice came then, a shuffling step indicative of her moving slightly in front of the door's panels. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder at her, blinking as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You know, there's still a lot of bureaucratic meetings to get through, at least three more left today alone. It's getting busy."

"I know," he intoned, checking the zipper once more and patting at the medallion around his neck to ensure its security there. "I'll be back in a few days."

An exasperated sigh passed over the other woman's lips. "Steve, you can't leave yet. You can't miss these meetings."

At that, he halted, really turning to look at her. Steve refused to suppress the feelings roiling beneath the surface. The naked hurt, anguish, and want pushed to the fore, impossible to ignore or look past, and Maria's own eyes widened at the sight. He raked a hand back through his hair, taking in a deep breath before he looked away.

"I've already missed the most important one. I'm not putting it off longer than I have to," he nearly whispered, his gaze focused on a point along the far wall. He'd been earth-side for the better part of three days, with no time spared for anything beyond treatments and sleep—when he could manage it. Word had been given out to his wife that he was alive and well, but he could not stand being away from her any longer. Not from her, not from their son and dog, and certainly not from the newborn daughter he'd been told had arrived a few weeks prior. He'd already given his time; he needed to be with them. The team was built to survive without him on occasion, and that would simply have to be one of those said occasions. Clasping the straps of the bag in one hand, he shook his head. "There's Bucky, there's Chapman, or even Tony could, if he's up for it. Let them head the committees for the time being."

Maria tilted her head to the side, watching him warily. "You're serving, though."

A frown curved Steve's mouth, and his shoulders tightened.

"The thing is, at this point, it's not compulsory service," he stated bluntly, an eyebrow spiking. For the last few years, he'd served the Avengers and the world due to his own compulsions, his own wishes to fight for the right and for justice. Yes, he generally preferred to stay with a mission or a job until it was completely taken care of, but on several of the matters at hand for the committees, many of the options being discussed were forgone conclusions. It would be pointless for him to be at all of them. He swallowed, and sighed, "And…"

His tongue froze, unwilling to allow him to say more in the moment. Instead, he looked at Maria again, silently imploring her to accept his wishes. Silence hovered for several seconds between them before the hardness in her face melted away, hands going onto her hips as she dipped her chin.

"Okay, we'll figure it out," she murmured, biting her lip as she mentally began to reshuffle the attendees in her head. Focusing on the present moment once more, she caught Steve's elbow as he went to pass her. Halting him, she said, "Take Barton with you. You both are going to the same place, anyway."

At once, his brow furrowed, confusion blooming in his irises.

"What?"

Hill did not bother to hide the smirk that pulled at the corners of her mouth, her hand sliding into her pocket and her phone retrieved.

"You've missed a bit while you were gone," she told him, starting to dial in the number for the medical wing. Flapping her free hand and bidding Rogers to follow, she promised, "I'll fill in the gaps while they get Clint ready to go."

Steve blinked at her, and then dipped his chin, following her out into the corridor, willing to oblige her in that instant.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ah, we got a little bit more into the aftermath here, and we'll continue to see it as the story draws more and more to a close. Still not there yet, though...Also, the Holly/Steve reunion is imminent, my friends! Just have to hang on, it's coming...

Gotta say, now that I'm on better footing with the content, I was able to really crank this one out, and I'm so glad for it. I know some of you were really rooting for the Vision to return, but...sadly, not everyone survives a war. And at this point in time, it's the Vision who doesn't come back. Same with Nebula, and Duquesne, and Heimdall on distant Asgard...casualties happen. The best that any of the survivors can do is go on, and honor what the fallen have done.

I intend to post the next chapter soon, so keep an eye out for it!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, _The Lord of the Rings,_ etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	18. Chapter 18

Laura Barton thumbed at the screen of her phone, the sincere happiness and excitement coursing through her heady after the relative calm she'd been feeling that morning. Nearly vibrating with it, she brushed down her blouse before heading back into the farmhouse, out of the sunshine of the back yard and into the coolness of the home.

Since it was early June, Cooper and Lila had just wrapped up the school year, now at home for the majority of the day. With her daughter enrolled in the summer school program (not the kind for academic underachievement, but the activity-filled kind), that would change the following week, but at that moment, her kids were still on the property. Her eldest was taking the time to actually play with little Nate, Grant Rogers joining in the fun as the boys all played with the tube of plastic dinosaurs her youngest had inherited from his siblings. Lila was engrossed in a painting she'd been inspired to start, the front room floor her workspace. Beside her was Bonnie, the corgi lounging on the pushed-aside rug and napping on her back, her paws twitching on and off as she chased dream rabbits. With them all thoroughly engrossed, she made the decision to share the good news with the other adult female in the house, wanting her aid in preparing for what was coming as soon as possible.

Up to the third floor she went, lightening the tread of her feet as she went down the hall. She knew Holly Rogers was there, taking a free moment to get Iris down for a nap and tend to a few things. When she knocked and was given a soft okay for entry, she paused on the threshold, the evident joy in her face turning to slight confusion.

The younger woman was seated upon the edge of her bed, her computer in her lap and her fingers fumbling furiously over the keyboard. However, it was not that which gave the older woman pause. It was the two bags upon her bed, and the gathered belongings at the foot, that made her blink in surprise.

"Holl, what are you doing?" she asked quietly, a fast glance darted to the bassinet. Baby Iris was still asleep, thankfully, and likely her mother would be going downstairs to gather up Grant for his as well. Holly flashed a look at her, lifting a shoulder while continuing to type.

"Emailing my publisher about the selling date, giving it my approval," she stated calmly, deliberately nodding to the laptop perched upon her knees. It was something she'd been meaning to do, after the previous email was sent to her to confirm the date for her second book to be distributed to the world. The older woman spiked an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking. She pointedly flapped a hand to the two opened bags on the other side of the bed, each one half-filled with various shirts and pieces of children's clothing.

"I meant all this," she remarked. Holly sighed, finishing with a few more clacks of the keys and the click of the mouse before she set the laptop aside. The brief humor in her face had slipped away, and she shook her head.

"I'm done, Laur," she said plainly, elbows on her knees and palms cupping at the air. Canting her head, every ounce of conviction she held within her came out as she spoke, her resolution clear. "I'm done waiting for him to be released, to come home. I'm not waiting for the team to tell me what's going on, and missing calls from my husband because he can only contact me in the dead of the night when he's not in danger. I'll be leaving with the kids tomorrow morning."

It had been a fresh, new version of irritation and agony, not being able to see Steve again. Inwardly, she'd mused on how spoiled she'd become after the last couple of years, with him being able to go directly home to her after a mission (and before that, with the Ultron debacle, she'd been with him until the aftermath had been settled). For three days since his confirmed presence on Earth—and she would definitely be having words with Bucky, since she'd found out via the media that her husband was trapped elsewhere upon the Avengers' return and he'd not seen it fit to tell her—Holly had to endure messages left in the small hours, brief connections that lasted only a few minutes at a time. It ate at her, stuck at her to think he was not able to come see their children, not even for a day, since then. She could not stand it anymore, not for herself or her babies. It would be difficult, but she was willing to take the chance so that she could get to him again.

Laura glanced at the bags again. She, too, had been on the brink, her own impatience fraying rapidly as she understood Clint's current state of being and not being able to help him out. It had pierced her to learn of his condition, the loss of his hearing, and she did not think it right for him to languish in a cold, unfeeling hospital bay when he could just as easily convalesce at home.

However, she rapidly pushed past the indignation, focusing on what she had to impart to her friend.

"Good," she murmured aloud, causing Holly to blink at her. The brightness she'd been holding back on upon entering surfaced then, and she hastened to tell her, "Because I wanted you to know that won't be necessary."

At once Holly's eyebrows snapped together, the hard thinking line creasing along her forehead.

"What do you..."

The older woman strode forward, the hand clutching her phone held up and the other grasping at one of Holly's.

"They're coming home. Steve and Clint," she breathed in a rush, a true smile blooming on her lips. As the younger woman gaped up at her, she nodded, conveying the truth as best she could. She pocketed the phone and squeezed her friend's hand, tugging to pull her up onto her feet. "Just got the message from Maria. They'll be here in an hour or two, tops."

The careful hope that was lining Holly's irises bloomed when she saw no trace of duplicity in Laura's face (not that she could ever imagine the other woman lying about something like that, particularly when it involved her own husband), and she surged forward, intense relief and happiness surging through her as she hugged her friend.

"I'll hold her to that," she muttered against Laura's shoulder, and the older brunette laughed. Together, they decided to hold onto the news of the men's arrival, so that the children could be surprised. With Grant and Nate needing to be put down for their own naps (Grant in the shared nursery, Nate on his parents' bed and shored up by pillows surrounding him), they busied themselves with tidying up the house, and Laura began to triple the amount of food they would need for dinner. Both the older children had been too preoccupied to notice, with Cooper set up in the front sitting area with a book and Lila moving onto playing with Bonnie. As the tennis ball was tossed back and forth, and tug-of-war was engaged with the much-loved chew rope, the crunch of tires could be heard turning into the drive. Cooper glanced at Lila, the pair of them sharing curious glances before darting over to the window. It wasn't often that people turned up at the house (they were out in the boondocks, as Holly had once said), so to have any vehicle show up garnered attention.

Holly looked at Laura, the two of them sharing in a secretive smile as they came up behind the teenager and young girl, looking around them. A black SUV had parked, the doors on the opposite side audibly opening and closing. None of them could make out the occupants, and there was hardly time to question it as the SUV made a rapid U-turn and sped back down the driveway.

"Who is..." Cooper started to wonder, his eyes going wide as he spotted one of the dropped-off occupants. "Dad?"

The shock in his tone did not erase the image presented before him. A little ragged, a little careworn, but it was Clint Barton standing there, a couple of healing cuts on his face and his eyes trained upon his home. His companion stood a little ways away, bags at his feet and a shield laying atop them. Steve Rogers glanced up at the window, the corner of his mouth seeming to curve as well.

"Daddy!" Lila cried in complete joy, immediately running to the door and flinging it open. Her brother was quick to follow her, the pair of them storming down the steps of the porch to their father. Outside, Clint gave a happy chortle and muted grunt as his son and daughter went into his arms. Sharing one last glance with Holly, Laura swiftly made her way outside, too. The younger brunette took in a shaky breath, bidding the corgi to stay as she went through the front door, latching it firmly behind her. The creak of the wooden slats under her feet went unnoticed, the mill and chirping of the kids as they clamored for Barton's attention fell to the wayside as she approached her husband. Despite being upright, his natural bearing holding him that way, she could see the exhaustion creeping around the edges, the brittleness of the last few days not having worn off. Still, he was there, and the brightening of his irises as she came closer was impossible to look past. He, too, was watching her, hands loose at his sides and his shoulders relaxing likely for the first time in days when she stopped.

"Steve," she said, a catch in her throat forcing her to stop. She halted just short of him, still a little unable to believe he was really there. Her dark brown gaze slid over him, picking out the obvious differences, knowing there were some probably lurking below the surface.

But what had remained was clear in his eyes, in his grin, as he met her eyes.

"...Holly," he replied, thumbs tucking into the edges of his jean pockets. He also stumbled in his speech, words lost to him for the moment. Holly, having gained a little control over her voice, blurted the first thing that came to her tongue.

"You shaved. And got a haircut."

Steve snorted in amusement, running a hand over the cut locks, dark gold in the afternoon light.

"Does it meet with your approval, dear?" he asked her, the grin he wore lessening slightly, a tremor of concern that it would not peaking through. However, that was not her focus. Her focus—what she could see through the blur of her tears—was on him, himself, and she did not find him wanting.

"God, yes," she croaked, tears dripping down her face even as she smiled. Three fast steps brought her into his arms, her own crooking around his neck and her mouth meeting his for a fast, needy kiss. Her body was pulled flush against his, the feel and the touch, even the air around him enfolding her. The embrace ended after several long moments, foreheads braced against each other and the couple breathing heavily.

"Stevie, my Stevie," Holly whispered, the tip of her nose bumping his.

" _A chuisle mo chro_ _í_ ," Steve breathed against her lips, and she grinned again, small pecks drawing him into another kiss. Gagging sounds and wolf whistles followed that one, and the pair broke apart to see the Barton children acting sick, their parents holding one another similarly and Clint having the audacity to wink. Holly felt a flush rise into her face even as she giggled, Steve sporting a similar one as he rolled his eyes and smirked at his friend. Blue eyes wandered over her, down her frame to the belly no longer round by pregnancy, and he spiked an eyebrow at his wife.

"So...you have anything you want to maybe show me? Or anyone?" he wondered facetiously, winding a stray, wavy lock of her hair around his finger before tucking it behind her ear.

Absolute joy was radiating off her, and she nodded enthusiastically through her leftover tears.

"Of course," she said, taking his hand in hers and starting to lead him to the house. The Bartons were behind them, Lila and Cooper each trying to tell Clint everything that had happened after he'd left, though they all were held up once the front door was opened again. The skittering click of nails against the boards resounded, and Steve immediately dropped to his knees, just in time to scoop up Bonnie as she launched herself at her master.

"Lord, Bonnie!" he squeaked, sputtering between the eager flops and licks the little corgi was imparting upon him. The fluff ball of an animal yipped at that, pawing at his chest and giving him more kisses as she wiggled excitedly. A snicker came from above, and he looked up in time to see the phone Holly had drawn out, the reunion being filmed for posterity.

"Her Majesty missed you, too," she joked, Lila laughing hard and Cooper even engaging in a chuckle or two. Clint shook his head, reaching around to pat the small dog himself, the energetic corgi barely calming down enough for them all to go into the house.

With Bonnie set on the floor and allowed to roam free, she stuck by Steve's side as Holly gestured for him to follow her upstairs. Laura followed until the second floor, intent on waking Nate and bringing him down to see his daddy. The little dog had calmed down by the time they all reached the third floor landing, breaking off to wedge herself underneath Cooper's bed (she'd gotten into the habit of rotating bedrooms to sleep in, and evidently it was the teenager's turn to house her that day). Shaking their heads at their dog, the couple went to the bedroom at the other end, Holly turning the knob silently. In she went, though Steve hovered at the door frame. The bed and craft table pushed against the wall below the window were the same as the last time he'd been there, nearly a year ago, but it was what differed that caught his eye.

Holly stood beside a bassinet, a delighted gasp coming out of her mouth as she peered at the baby within.

"Oh, are you awake, sweetie?" he heard her croon to the little one, the profile of her face showing the curve of her grin as she reached into the bassinet. "C'mere, big eyes."

Cradling her protectively, Holly lifted Iris, smoothing out the sleeve of her light-colored onesie, kissing her cheek and turning to her husband. The look in his eyes was one she could not ignore, with equal parts happiness and regret in them. She shook her head once, not wishing him to dwell on what he had not been there for, had not been able to do. He was there, now, and he would do what he could.

"Come meet your daughter, Steven," she bade him softly, her grin growing wider as he stepped fully into the room. Gently, she passed their baby girl into his arms, the old instincts from when Grant was young kicking back in for him.

Steve couldn't help but stare down at the baby. She seemed so small, as their son had, though he knew from experience that she'd already grown quite a bit over the last few weeks. Not knowing what she'd looked like at birth, he was still slightly taken aback by the lightness of her hair, giving credence to the thought that she would eventually be a full blond like him. Dark eyes blinked up at him, tiny fingers curling around the finger he placed by them, and he smiled at her.

"Hiya, sweet pea. It's Daddy," he said to her, pressing a kiss into her downy hair. The thickness in his throat returned as he nuzzled lightly at her temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm, I'm sorry I couldn't be there for your birthday. Think you can forgive me?"

The little fingers around his larger one gripped harder, and the baby hiccuped, a sigh breathed out of her as she snuggled against him. Holly ran the pad of her thumb over the little one's cheek, the fond grin on her face accompanied by the misting in her eyes.

"I think she already has," she coughed, her palm resting along the arm supporting the child, and he smirked a little at that.

"Iris," Steve murmured, calling his daughter by her name for the first time. She blinked up at him, with pretty dark eyes that he was so familiar with, and he chuckled as he looked up at his wife. "She already looks so much like you, doll. Beautiful girl."

Holly's head tipped to the right, the glow around her practically visible at that moment. Her eyes lingered along the chain of the medallion he still wore, and she tenderly tapped a finger against it.

"You're gonna need a new picture for that soon," she proclaimed, Steve smiling at her.

"Yeah," he agreed, another kiss given to Iris as his eyes closed briefly. Soon enough, he cleared his throat, smoothing over the peaches stamped on the front of the onesie. To the baby, he asked, "What do you say we go see your brother, huh, sweetheart?"

More than amenable to the idea, Holly stepped in to answer for the both of them, saying that it would be a fantastic idea. She led the way down to the second floor, Steve humming under his breath as he held Iris, rocking her a bit with his steps. The baby gurgled at him, her little fists thumped as she stretched her arms, and he cooed right back at her. They halted at the door just beyond the bathroom, Holly reaching out to take the infant from him.

"Let me go first, okay? Get him ready," she murmured in a low tone, Steve nodding and stepping back, out of sight as she went into Nate's nursery. He heard her call out gently to their boy, the shift of a blanket and a little body moving reaching his ears.

"Mama, Ris," Grant's higher-pitched voice floated out to him, and he closed his eyes, listening as Holly spoke to him.

"Hey, buddy. Guess what?" She paused for effect, grunting as she undoubtedly hauled the boy out of his crib. "I have a surprise for you."

"Sup-pise?" he asked her, a bit of excitement starting to rise in his tone.

"Mm-hmm. You know who finally came home?"

Grant gasped, "Who?"

Taking that as his cue, Steve went around and through the door frame, a sigh floating unbidden past his lips. His son had grown a bit as well since he last saw him, his sandy brown hair drawn up in spikes from his nap, and he couldn't help the giant smile that stretched his mouth.

"Hi, Grant."

Big blue eyes stared up at him, the toddler frozen at Holly's side as he eyed the bigger man.

"It's Daddy," Holly said, nudging the little guy gently on the shoulder. Grant's gaze wavered, and he quickly buried his face against his mother's leg, arms wrapping around it as he turned away from his father. Confused by his reaction—and feeling the tug at her heart when she saw Steve's face fall slightly—she knelt down and cupped her boy's cheek. "What's wrong?"

Blue eyes blinked at her, filling fast with tears as he shook his head hard.

"Daddy...not Daddy," he said, wedging closer to her again.

Holly patted his back with her free hand, shifting Iris and wincing sympathetically at her husband. "It is your dad, sweetheart."

Grant dared to chance a look at Steve once more, the bigger man bracing his hands on his thighs at he waited for the little guy to reach a verdict. The boy shook his head after a few moments.

"Face is wrong! Not hairy," he crowed, pointing to his own chin and cheeks for emphasis. Unable to stop himself, Steve chuckled, the bubbling sound laced with something like relief. It wasn't that he truly did not know him, but that he did not appear right. That, he could work with.

"I shaved, pal," he explained. Quickly, he gripped the medallion around his neck, depressing the latch on it and opening it up. Carefully, he held it out a bit, silently encouraging the boy to take a look. The little guy looked to his mother, and when Holly nodded for him to go, he wobbled across the planks to look at it. Seeing the pictures of him with his mama, and the grainy curve of a baby's head, he looked up at Steve, lower lip wobbling. Slowly, gently, Steve took the little guy's hand in one of his own, his gaze never wavering. "It's still me, I promise."

A beat of silence, and then Grant murmured, "...My daddy?"

The older man had to blink against the newest upsurge of waterworks, and he nodded. "Yes, it's me."

Another pause, and then the toddler lurched forward, springing into his father's arms. At once, Steve's arms wrapped around his son, hand carding at the boy's mop of hair and his heart hammering in his chest. He really, truly was there, had held his daughter and now his son, his wife with him and their dog milling about elsewhere. Now, now, he fully felt it in his soul.

"You stay," Grant said, his head still leaning on his shoulder.

Steve nodded. "I'm staying, buddy."

The Rogers clan eventually made their way downstairs, departing for the den towards the back of the house. Arriving just as Clint was explaining how Stark had crafted him hearing aides, Holly gasped along with everyone else. The last any of them had heard, it was speculated that Clint would never be able to hear properly even with aides. That was no longer the case, and he even popped one out to show them, though it took a bit of finagling to do so. There was still some fine-tuning to be done, but the situation was not as dire as to be expected. Expressing relief and gladness for him, Laura cleared her throat and announced that it was about time for them all to eat.

Dinner was had, with Cooper asking his father for details of the mission, if the threat to the earth was really gone for good. Steve and Clint shared a deep, hard look, with the commander stating that it was true, and for the time being, they were all safe. Unable to comprehend the toll it had taken, of the true cost of it all, Lila asked a few questions about the fighting itself. She was sharply hushed by her mother, though Clint passed a hand in the air. It was difficult, difficult in many ways, but that they were fine, and that was what they should focus on. Holly glanced at her own husband, Steve's gaze lowering to his plate and his fork moving absently over the pasta piled atop it. The conversation was stilted for a little while, before Laura prompted Lila to speak about her upcoming summer school classes, and that allowed them all to get through the meal well enough.

Dark had long since fallen by the time Steve and Holly went to bed, Grant and Iris put to sleep at the same time as Nate. Stripping down and swapping into pajamas (the bags and Steve's shield having been brought in hours ago), Holly was drawn into his embrace again, soft kisses peppering her face, neck, and mouth as Steve held her. Having learned of her stitches and the doctor's orders to wait until six weeks after the birth, he was quite amenable to waiting, but he could not resist at least getting a slight taste. Tiredness crept over them both after awhile, the man and woman falling asleep in each other's arms.

A shrill cry jarred Holly from her slumber, her exhausted brain catching up sluggishly. Wiggling out of her husband's arms (no easy feat, she mused in amusement), she'd barely lifted up the quilt covering them when she felt a palm curl around her bicep.

"I got her," Steve rasped, his rumbling voice undercutting the cries of their daughter. Holly automatically shook her head in denial.

"No, no, you don't have to," she murmured sleepily, sitting up and rubbing the crust already forming in her eyes. "You should sleep."

"Doll, no. I want to." Looking at him fully, she saw the pleading look in his eyes, a sort of desperate eagerness within. "Please, I want to do this."

Blinking, Holly nodded after a second or two, shifting to lie down again. "Alright."

Steve was up and out of the bed before she'd finished the word, crossing silently to the bassinet.

"My baby girl," he crooned to Iris, lifting her out and holding her against his chest. As she continued to cry, he started to pace the room, a slight rock in his step as he went. "Daddy's here, shh, shh."

His walking and low hums in his throat went a ways to lull the little one, but her whimpers did not cease, and after several minutes—and a fast diaper check on Steve's part—Holly had an inkling of an idea what was wrong. She sat up again, turning back the covers even as her husband shook his head, telling her she could go back to sleep.

Yawning wide, she gave him a sleepy smirk, her eyebrows inclining. "Hon, as great as your pecs are, you can't feed her."

Understanding hit him then, and he rolled his eyes even as he snorted.

"Thanks, dear," he muttered, passing Iris over to Holly when the woman approached. She took the baby over to the chair in the corner, settling in to feed her. From beneath her lashes, she caught Steve staring at them both as he climbed back under the covers, an intensity in his eyes that she couldn't place. Focusing upon getting the baby fed, it was only a short time later that Iris was contented, burping when patted and nestling into her mother's arms. As she fell back into slumber, Holly brought her back to the bassinet, wrapping her up snugly and feeling Steve's gaze follow her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she blinked at him and grinned tentatively. "What?"

Jarred from his staring, from his thoughts, he let his gaze drop to his hands, where they had been toying with the edge of the quilt on and off. When he looked back up at her again, she could practically see the calm facade he'd adopted after dinner dropping away, piece by piece.

"Just...when I was out there, and stuck on..." he trailed off, eyes closing and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. That alone made Holly nervous, and she took a couple of steps closer to the bed. He forced his eyes open again, meeting her dark gaze fully, all sincerity in his irises as he declared, "What kept me sane was you. You, our boy, our girl. Thought about you taking care of them both, and how I had to hang on. Just long enough to get back and be here for it. For this. Had to hang on...so hard..."

The quilt underhand was wrung, the pain surfacing on his features as he could no longer look her in the eye. Feeling sick at heart, Holly felt it wash through her veins.

"Oh, sweetheart," she crooned, crawling back onto the bed. Kneeling up on the mattress, she wound her arms around his shoulders, combing through the strands of his hair as he buried his face against the side of her neck. His arms wound around her waist, holding her as close as he possible could. The trembling she'd detected in him earlier was all the more obvious as she held him. Thoughts raced and chased one another in her mind, dread piercing her gut as she imagined what he'd witnessed out there, what he'd gone through. In a hushed voice, she bent her head to whisper near his ear, "Did they, were you..."

He shook his head then, arms curling harder around her. A sharp gasp, and then his muffled crow came out. "I can't, I can't—"

The very real distress and underlying fear in his tone had her rocking him slightly, the stuttering breaths in his chest puffed against her neck as she tried her best to soothe him.

"It's okay," she said, repeating it over and over as he struggled to breathe, struggled against whatever demons were clawing inside of his head and heart. Though she had very little experience with battle herself, Steve had over the years confessed to some of the things he'd endured, some of the things he'd witnessed, and it was enough to make her heart-sore for him. Maybe one day he would tell her all that he went through out there among the stars, but she would never force him to, and she definitely would not ask again that night. "It's alright, I'm here. You're safe."

It took awhile, several clicks of the air conditioning turning on and off, before he lifted his head away, dampness beneath his eyes and blotting the collar of her shirt. His shaking had since stopped, and his breathing had become more even. Tired eyes met hers, and he braced his forehead against Holly's, sighing heavily.

"I wanna take you home, all of you," he groaned, palms cupping at her waist, thumbs brushing back and forth over the material of her sleep shirt. "We should go home."

Holly nodded, thinking upon the half-filled bags that she'd tucked under the craft table. She was entirely okay with that notion.

"Yeah. We'll go home," she agreed, guiding him to lay down with her, his head resting on her stomach as they stretched out along the bed. Carding her fingers through his hair, she felt his breathing steady further, and she whispered, "Tomorrow."

Just as promised, the Rogers clan was packed up and on the road a little after seven in the morning, farewells exchanged on the front porch with their hosts. Laura and Holly shared a hug and promises to have one or the other visit soon. Clint, looking like he'd gotten about the same amount of sleep as Steve had, merely smiled and shook his friend's hand, both men wishing each other luck. Soon enough, the two young children and adults were in the truck, Bonnie clipped in as well as they rumbled away from the farmhouse, finding their way to the main road and to the east. It took two days to get back to New York, with Steve and Holly trading off driving and sitting in the back to tend to Iris (though Holly was more apt to drive than Steve he still wasn't sleeping well, and he seemed to be far better when he was with his boy and girl). Nights spent at two hotels under assumed names—Maria Hill's handiwork playing into it yet again—passed well enough, few complaints to be had on the trip home.

By early afternoon of the third day, the truck was rumbling along familiar roads, turning off the main highway onto the side streets they knew all too well. Shortly, as the vehicle was maneuvered up a gravel driveway, JJ snapped onto the dashboard display, welcoming them all home as Holly parked the truck just outside the house. The slate blue domicile looked to be intact, though there were a number of fallen branches in the yard and the grass appeared to be slicked still from a recent rainstorm. Steve's gaze was locked upon it in the back seat, alert as ever as he scanned over it.

"Home," he murmured, his palm resting upon the edge of the door. Glancing up at the rear-view mirror, he caught Holly's tired and pleased look.

"Yeah," she said. Taking in a deep breath, she opened up the door, unbuckling and swinging herself out of the cab. Going to his door, she opened it and swept her arm out, giving him a teasing wink. "C'mon, soldier. We've got some work to do."

He cracked a smile at that, unbuckling as well. "Yes, ma'am."

In short order, they got their children and dog inside, the locks on the back door disabled and the security measures lowered for the first time in two months. The blackout screens on the windows rose, light pouring in and highlighting the dusty pieces of furniture and such. Though there was enough laundry to do, it was decided that all their bedding would be included as well, and done first. Between that and unloading (including putting away the groceries they'd acquired in town on the way back), they would pause to see to Grant, relegated to his pack-n-play, or Iris, in the old bouncer seat. Hours passed with unpacking their things, checking out the garage, and cleaning up the dust as the machines in the basement chugged away. The long sunlight of early evening bled through the trees as they finished, the clang and clatter of their son's toys met with the gentle hum of the bouncer as Bonnie chewed on her squeaky toy, the sounds of their lives brought to the fore as they scrounged up something to eat. Filling their dishes with instant potatoes and divvied rotisserie chicken (a smaller plate given to Grant in his high chair, and Iris napping in her crib for the first time), they sat at the table as a family, chewing in silence for several minutes.

Until Holly found the temerity to ask the question that had been circling in her brain.

"When do you leave on Sunday?" she asked, poking her fork at the remaining sliver of chicken on her plate. Over the course of the past couple of days, they had spoken, mostly about the calmer aspects of the mission and the aftermath. Though he'd forced his way into getting some leave, he'd told her that he could not be away from the proceedings for long. Sighing, Steve set down his fork in the present, raking a hand back through his hair as he blew out a breath.

"I'll probably go to the base around six o'clock, grab a quinjet over to D.C. Hawley's heading up the committee with the U.N. and the president, so the rest of us are technically only on the periphery, but they need us there."

Holly's eyes crinkled at that, a little humor dancing over them. Ceremonial aspects of his job were tedious, but he endured them with enough grace that few suspected it.

"You mentioned," she murmured, the smirk that had risen falling away. Sneaking a peek at their boy, who was patting down his potatoes with a spoon and chattering happily to himself, she lowered her voice and inquired, "How long?"

"I'll be there for a few days, no longer than a week." Another deep breath, and then he looked her in the eye, deadly seriousness in his gaze. "And then, I'm done."

It was the finality of the word that struck her, resonating deep in her core. Squinting curiously, she tilted her head to the left.

"Done?" she prompted, not willing to let the unspoken remain as such. She found her heart thumping harder in her chest when the seriousness did not abate, when he reached over and took her hand.

"Yes, done," he reaffirmed, licking his lips and raising his chin. It was time to tell her the full truth, to express what he'd been considering for some time. "Holl, after this summit, I'm going to hang up my shield."

The utterly shocked look on her face would have been, in other circumstances, a bit funny to behold, but Steve could not even begin to laugh at it. It was no small wonder to him that she should appear that way; he hadn't spoken about truly retiring except as a possibility in the future. After the first battle, between the sessions of torture and plotting to be free, he saw the possibility looming before, provided he survived.

Which he had done, and was going to follow through on.

His fingers laced with hers, squeezing as he went on to explain his choice.

"What kept me going through the insanity, the hurt, the...torture," he began, breaking on the last word and pausing as he repressed a shudder. A sharp intake of breath came from Holly; he hadn't given her specific details of what was done to him, but he had implied, and to have it confirmed clearly did not sit well with her. He could just imagine how she would take it when she discovered it was the Red Skull's handiwork, but that was a confession for later on. After the work was finished, he promised himself. Shaking his head, he pushed past the sticking in his throat and looked at her again. "What got me through was you. You and our children, and what we have. I don't think I could have made it through this time without the memories, the truth and goodness of all this. And I...I always come so close to losing it all every time I step out there. I almost did lose it all, could have so easily."

Holly stared at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Hon, that's, that's been part of your job since—"

"I know," he cut in, not wanting his old excuses to be thrown up at that time. It had been part of the job, from the day they'd met up until then. It was an unpleasant fact of life that as a soldier, and a commander of an elite task force, he would occasionally be putting his life in danger for the good of others. He'd served, ready to bear the consequences...forcing his wife and children to do the same. He couldn't stomach that. "And I shouldn't have let it become such a major part that you can accept that. That our kids may have to learn that acceptance." Fingers tightened again, and his stormy blue gaze flicked to Grant, the little fella engrossed in his food still and entirely unaware of the discussion happening before him. Steve canted his head in denial, murmuring, "I grew up without a father, because there was no choice, because of his service; I can't do that to Grant and Iris, not anymore. I can't do that myself. I've been helping the world for so long that I have failed to help here, be here. You need me, too." He brought her hand up to his lips, pecking a kiss to her knuckles and shutting his eyes. "And I need, _need_ , you. I need to be home."

Holly could not help but gape at him for several seconds longer. Retirement for Steve, while not unwelcome, was not something she could see him doing. Not when he was still young enough, determined enough, to act for the right and for justice as he could.

"I...I won't lie and say I'm not happy with the idea of you being here—and being safe—but are you sure?" she stammered, guilt suddenly lancing through her and forcing her to look away. "I don't want you to give up serving only because of us. We can, we can find ways to get through it."

His other hand came up, cupping at her chin and turning her to face him again. A stern expression set upon his features and he adamantly shook his head.

"No. You shouldn't have to," he declared, refusing to let her shoulder the burden of his choices. She'd done enough of that already, even if he never honestly viewed them as burdens. There would be backlash, would be anger and indignation once his decision was made public, and he knew that a good portion of it would fall upon her, upon their family. He entirely refused to let her feel guilty about his wishes. Quickly, he emphasized, "And, also, I don't _want_ to. The only soldier who serves indefinitely is a dead one, and I am not that, yet. This wasn't meant to last forever, and I can't do that. I won't do that."

Holly scrutinized Steve, her dark eyes flicking over his features to discern if her was being genuine in his desire to retire, to walk away entirely from the organization that had kept him steady during the early, confusing months after waking. Then again, the true organization that had done so was broken down, became nothing more than a branch of the second he found himself employed with, and the roster there had changed, too. Either way, they had given him a purpose in a world he did not understand, did not think he would be able to assimilate and connect to.

However, he'd found a way to get by, to connect in ways he hadn't thought possible. He'd found his footing as Captain America, as the commander. In his eyes, she could see the true desire to use it to become entirely Steve Rogers. And that, she would support.

"...Okay." She dipped her chin, watching him relax in his chair, the hand on her cheek falling away. After taking a couple of moments to breathe, she let her curiosity rise again, a pointed look shot his way. "And what's your plan for after, Star-Spangled Man?"

The corner of his mouth curved, his hand releasing hers to pluck up his fork again. "I have a couple ideas. Mind if we wait a little bit before I run those by you, too?"

"Yes, love," she responded, a tremor of a chuckle under her words. Retrieving her fork as well, she speared the last bite of chicken she had, popping it into her mouth and muttering, "And on the plus side, you'll be home for our anniversary."

Steve did smile then, nodding once more. "Absolutely."

"Mama!" Grant crowed, the toddler drawing attention as well by banging his spoon on the tray of the high chair. Evidently, he was finished with his dinner, and wanted to be let out. Before Holly could rise, Steve got up, his palm ghosting across her shoulders as he passed. Sliding back the tray and scooping up the boy, he tickled Grant's belly, the little fella giggling madly before catching his daddy in a big hug. Holly sniffed hard, a stray tear leaking out of her eye as Steve hugged him back, the promise of staying remaining in the air as they prepared to face the rest of their evening.

 **xXxXxXx**

In the rare time he had free, now that he was Earth-side again, Peter Quill had found his way there. The weathered arch over the entrance stared back at him, the English lettering at once familiar and unsettling. It was a place he hadn't been to before, but one he knew he would have to go to if he ever returned. After the rain of the last couple of days, the sky was clear, the bright blue peeking behind thin clouds.

It felt almost mocking in a way, but he let the thought go. There was far too much to think about already, besides the universe deciding to stick it to him.

After making contact with the Avengers again, consoling Gamora as she confessed to the loss of Nebula and others, it wasn't difficult to imagine the firestorm of of the media springing up. Speculation about the extraterrestrials, about their motivations for aiding Earth and how a human being ended up in their mix, was barely fobbed off. When he was a kid, he had thought that being the center of attention would have been neat, but at that time, he found it excruciating and irritating. They were grieving their losses, trying to rebuild what was broken, and people wanted to know what his favorite "alien" food was? He couldn't fathom it, and after a day of enduring it, he chose to stay away from it all, mainly attending meetings upon the helicarrier (big, clunky vessel that couldn't even break through the atmosphere, and he was not too impressed) or sticking with his friends in between.

Until he got word from the one person on the planet he would willingly see. Charles Quill, his grandpa, was still alive, and upon hearing the news—hearing his name for the first time in nearly thirty years outside of his memories—he reached out to SHIELD, begged them to give him a chance to see him. At once, Peter went, back to Missouri. Staying under the radar, he managed to sneak away before anybody would notice, a quinjet dropping him off with a motorcycle to use. Quickly, he and the companion who insisted on coming along with him sped away, through the small town to the address of the old house he remembered visiting so much as a child.

His hair had thinned significantly, more wrinkled had cropped up on his face and the stoop of his form a little more obvious, but Grandad stared at him with the bright eyes passed through the bloodline, eyes that misted over upon seeing his grown grandson on the doorstep. The elderly gentleman pulled him into a fierce, strong hug, the power behind it not lost as Peter returned it. They must have looked like an odd pair to the neighbors, the older fellow in sweater and khakis, the younger with his great overcoat and heavy boots, but neither of them cared. A clearing throat brought them both out of the moment, and Grandad glanced past him to his companion. It was Gamora, her dark, sorrowful eyes and green skin affording no more than a blink and a shrug before he invited them in. She tugged at the borrowed sweater dress and leggings she'd been gifted with for traveling, ducking inside before they could garner anymore attention.

The décor of the house had not changed—still the same, crusty sofa in the living room, the creaking armchair and the Formica table that could be seen from the door into the kitchen—and for that, Peter was almost grateful. At least one thing from his past hadn't been touched or tainted, and he sank down onto the couch as the old man brought out cups of coffee on a tray. The light banal chit-chat fell away as the older man confessed that after his disappearance, he hadn't stopped looking for Peter. A scrapbook was brought forth, news articles of the strange happenings the night of his mother's death and the efforts being made to locate him over the next several years. With no leads and no trail to follow, the police had told Charles Quill to give up, to let go. But in his heart, he never could, knowing somehow that Peter was out there, just beyond his reach.

And slowly, carefully, Peter told him of his childhood, of Yondu and the Ravagers, of his eventual career alteration that had brought him back to the earth, and back to his grandfather. He revealed that he had seen his father ("No-good punk," Granddad had grumbled, and Peter had to agree, his heart twisting in his chest), but that he had passed a few years ago. He did leave out little details, such as his incarceration, and the amount of times he'd been in trouble with or battling against members of differing planetary nations, but the sparkle in Grandpa Charlie's eyes told him that he could read between the lines as well as he used to. He made mention that he knew of the Expansion, which his grandfather described as a giant glob that had nearly swallowed his car whole, and Peter was never more thankful that Ego had not succeeded in his plans. Gamora contributed here and there, occasionally making a quip or shutting Peter down in a humorous way, making Charles laugh. Approval was etched all over his face as the old man watched her lace her fingers with his grandson's, a bit of wistfulness in his expression.

The pair of them chose to spend the night at his home before needing to head to the American capital, but there was one more visit that Peter felt he had to make, and so the old man sent them off with a posy he'd picked up, saying he would've been heading that way in a day or two. Better that the younger man deliver it early, he mused, sorrow creeping into his features as he gave Peter one more hug and an admonition to be back by supper.

Which was how he found himself under the arch to Pleasant View Cemetery, leaving Gamora behind as he weave his way around the plots. According to Granddad, it was near the back, his mother's plot beneath the great willow tree. Sure enough, he found it after a few minutes, the wispy tendrils of the tree obscuring him from view as he stared at the granite slab, Meredith Quill's name and dates reflecting back at him. He paused, fingers shifting around the flowers his grandfather had passed to him, and he coughed against the strain in his throat.

"I...I don't know what to say, or even do," he muttered, awkwardly raking a hand through his skewed waves. Perhaps he should've made himself a bit more presentable, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Kneeling down, he cleared his throat. "I, I brought you something."

The bouquet of flowers was laid at the foot of the stone, his eyes riveted to the stark letters and the weathered photograph of his mother embedded above them. It had been taken before her diagnosis, before the illness that Ego had planted within her took root. Pushing back the horrid, murderous thoughts he had still for the guy, he concentrated on the plot of ground encompassing his mother's body. Idly, he trailed his fingers through the trimmed grass, shaky breaths filling his chest as he continued to stare. Finally, he found the courage to speak again, the water rising in his eyes threatening to spill over.

"I'm, I'm sorry," he croaked, not sure what else he could say to the gravestone, to someone he did not think could hear him any longer. However, that did not stop him from saying something. Leaning forward, he braced his palm along the top curve of the stone, nearly whispering, "I hope you know that I wouldn't have...if I could have, I would have stayed. I promise."

The stray tears fell, swiftly blotted away as he sat back on his haunches. The warm stir of the breeze seemed to wrap around him, a vague sense of peace coming to him as he imagined his mother's arms going around him. In his head, he could hear her voice, the distant memory of it stronger than ever as he could almost feel her pride in him Within seconds, the breeze was gone, and he pushed himself back onto his feet. A final, watery smile was directed at the stone, and he walked away, ducking through the strands of the willow tree. He stopped short when he realized he'd been followed, a rueful snort coming out of him as Gamora turned away from the headstone she'd been inspecting.

The set of her gaze was sympathetic empathetic, and she dipped her chin toward the shelter he'd just left. "Will you be okay?"

"I think so," he stated slowly, coming closer to her then. Taking her hand in his, he followed her gaze as it went back to the stranger's grave she was near. Nebula had not been put to rest like that; her body was instead cremated, the ashes transferred to an urn that now sat aboard the Milano, ready to fly with them. Coming closer, he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. "You?"

She let out a low, weary sigh, eyes closing against the hurt and the sorrow still inside. "One day. Maybe."

Peter didn't press her, didn't force more out of her. He understood, truly, and that was enough.

"Let's go," he murmured, pivoting them both and walking with her back to the entry. One more night, and then it would be back to work, and they had to make the most of it. Especially since, deep in his heart, Peter knew he would never return again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Finally, the reunion you've all been waiting for! Steve goes to his family, and finally meets baby Iris. And, more importantly, he makes a huge decision about his future.

Some of you may not be happy with my choice of having Steve walk away from being an Avenger, from the job that had given him a purpose. However, in canon, he walked away from being Captain America for the sake of his friend, and one could even argue for the sake of himself after giving years of service for very little reward. I think he would be far more inclined to leave for the sake of his own family. And to be honest, this has been planned since _By First Light_ ; in the first draft, he was supposed to walk away then, and be in retirement when Grant was born. Instead, I chose to hold off until the Infinity War was fought and won before he came to the ultimate conclusion of leaving for good. He's fought for the world, for his loved ones, and nearly died several times. It's about time that he lives for them. Again, not all of you may be pleased with the choice, but, well, it is what it is. He's not the same man he was at the beginning of _At Day's End_ ; there's more to him, now, and it is something he needs to take time and understand himself.

Steve Rogers deserves to be just Steve Rogers, in my book.

Is the story over? Not quite yet. We have a few loose ends to tie up, but we are getting close.

And we see Peter Quill touch base in Missouri. I do hope in canon that he has a chance to see his grandpa again, since as of 2014, the fellow was still alive, but we'll see.

" _A chuisle mo chro_ _í."_ —Gaelic, Irish; Pulse of my heart.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	19. Chapter 19

As Steve had predicted, the Avengers present for the meetings of the United Nations members and the president of the United States were merely ornamental. Granted, they were certainly given leave to speak, if they so chose, and to enter their own opinions on restructuring the policy, but nearly none of them took the bait on that. For the most part, the one who spoke for them was Rhodes, healed enough to be there (leaning heavily on his cane, but still as calm and confident a force as he'd ever been). Hawley and her staff were meant to also go on to meet other leaders of the free world, gauge their feelings on the matter, but the teams would be disembarking for their own bases once the discussions were over.

The treatments for the soldiers in the battle were ongoing, the dead were to be buried and honored, but policy, as ever, had to be discussed. Something that would be taken advantage of, in those days.

With the reassertion of the extraterrestrial forces beyond the edges of the globe, a new line of defense and delegation had to be opened up. Rapport was built with the Asgardian prince still on the planet (though he met some of the policies with a bemused set to his countenance), but, as Nick Fury himself had alluded in the past, Asgard was not the only contender out there. Peter Quill and his misfit band of warriors had proven just that, and it behooved the world to begin thinking of what could be out there, friends and foes. Proposals for new defense systems would be put forth, as well as a new division within the Pentagon to be formed to meet with any beings that should come onto the Earth in the future. However, they were clear-minded enough to steer clear of anything resembling Project Insight, and with Commander Rogers standing in the room-a veritable glower on his face-they knew they were making the right decision in looking towards actual peaceful means. T'Challa, in his role as the King of Wakanda and another part of the delegation, offered to spare portions of his country's goods and assets to build up a new satellite system, one that would be able to detect ever farther beyond what those ringing the planet currently could. Secretary Ross, who had been invited to the meeting, scoffed audibly, but mostly sat in his seat and sulked like a small child (his narrow eyes constantly scanned the gathered team members, hoping that he could weed out information about Bruce's whereabouts, but none were willing to cooperate with him, and he did not dare push).

Within the papers and documents that had been drawn up, ready to be signed, one such team member had presented her own findings. Or rather, she presented a sort of treaty. Crystal, in the aftermath of the fighting, had realized the folly in withholding her own identity, of withholding information that could have lent more aid to the fight. Revealing herself to be a daughter of Inhuman royalty (and gobsmacking Pietro so hard he could barely move afterward), she had brandished the treaty, drawn up in between working with the relief groups and wounded soldiers. In the private moments, she'd contacted her brethren, their location still secret to all but a few—Coulson had the decency to keep the smug smile he wished to sport off his lips while she spoke. The king of her people, the ones responsible for introducing the Inhuman bloodlines into the world, had noted the otherworldly arrivals, but due to upheaval and turmoil in his own kingdom, he could not offer any form of support. It had only recently been rectified, and the terms he was most willing to offer were passed onto her.

As well as that, she had a separate document for another matter altogether: the proposal of bringing in the elder Inhumans to act as instructors for the Academy the Avengers Initiative was intending to build. With the need for the school being greater than ever, in their estimation, they wished to connect with their brethren, teach them how to harness their gifted abilities and aid them in being productive members of their society. At the same time, they too would learn of their past, of the culture they'd unknowingly gone without ever hearing about.

Bruce Banner was absent from the proceedings, though he'd given his fellows his blessing. When they'd returned, Steve and Tony had offered him a blessing in return. Well, blessing or curse, he had yet to decide what it was just yet. In his small quarters upon the helicarrier, he sat, arms folded and his lip chewed as he considered the possibilities laid out before him. He'd barely heard the tap at his door, but once it registered in his brain, he managed to call out to the person on the other side to enter. It was unsurprising that Thor would be there, looking somehow both wearied and pleased.

"Hello, friend," he greeted the human male, crossing into the room and seating himself on the edge of the narrow bed. Banner, from his position in the uncomfortable easy chair in the corner, graced him with a nod and a wan smile.

"Hey," he returned, the grin sliding away as his thoughts turned inward again. However, the god would not let him wallow in his musings.

"Thinking hard, I see," he stated, tilting his head as Bruce sighed. Bright eyes scanned over the doctor as he murmured, "I take it Stark and Rogers brought forth the proposal for the Academy to you."

Banners dark gaze shot to him then, saying it all in one glance. The blond fellow sat up straighter, any amusement in his features gone as he noted his friend's posture.

"What shall you do?" he asked, his tone deliberately careful. When Bruce merely shrugged, he dared to wonder, "Will you run?"

Banner scratched his neck, moving then to rake his fingers back through his hair. "I…I don't know. I was offered a spot at the school. Science teacher, covering some basic material since it seems the incoming classes are going to be mostly from twelve to sixteen-year-olds. Supposedly Cho's younger brother is going to be coming in as well to cover what I can't, but…yeah, teaching again."

Thor nodded in comprehension, leaning his elbows onto his knees and linking his fingers together.

"So will you do it?"

The good doctor shrugged again, mimicking his friend's pose after a few more seconds. "I don't know. I still have immunity, Hawley said, but…that's not a guarantee." A bland glance was shot at the god, though the other fellow detected the ire and frustration lurking within. "Ross is apparently up in arms about me coming back, and if I step one toe out of line, he's most likely going to find a way to get me put in the Raft." Shaking his head, he lost the fire in his irises, grave concern returning once more. "But…I don't know what good I will be to the kids. Temperament is varied, at best. "

The two of them shared a wry chuckle at that, before quiet descended upon them again. Thor studied Bruce for a moment, seeing the physical weight of the decision to be made resting upon his shoulders and the fear under the anger. To some, it may have been a simple choice, but with Banner, it could never be simple, and he understood that. The last year spent working alongside each other, rebuilding and traveling the stars had given him a greater wealth of knowledge into the deceptively mild-mannered man, and even to the Hulk as well.

"You have put up with me, Friend Bruce," he pointed out gently, the corner of his mouth quirking as Bruce snorted. "For longer stretches. And were you not an instructor before?"

"Yeah, I put in my hours. At least until I got that grant." And at that, Banner seemed to shrink in upon himself, his dark brown eyes riveting to his shoes. It had been so long since he'd been a part of academia, so long since he'd had to make lesson plans, stand in front of a classroom...exposed, his own thoughts bent and twisted for understanding.

But his other option was risking his life, and the lives of others, if he attempted to find shelter in the shadows. The world simply wasn't big enough to hide him anymore, and with his reappearance on the planet, it was unthinkable for him to disappear again. When his efforts away from the earth had been expounded upon (through Fury, who relished telling him of Ross's clear frustration and discomfort), there were many on the meeting committees who truly considered him a hero. Them, and many others on the public forums, too—though there were still a few who called him "an anger management failure on steroids."

Shaking his head, he pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing out slowly. Pressure was presented on his shoulder after a few seconds, and he looked up to see Thor had risen, his palm solidly clapping him.

"Whatever you decide, I shall be behind you." The strength in his statement wavered a bit, and he shrugged slightly. "To a point. I will be leaving myself, with the Guardians. With my father absent yet again, I will need to return home. Return us to peace."

Bruce grinned wearily. "Back to your brethren, huh?"

Thor attempted to smile, but the doleful look on his face defeated it. "Missing a few, but I do look forward to seeing the others. They, they will be of immeasurable help, once I am back."

He paused, the piercing blue of his irises lighting upon something over his friend's head.

"The other Midgardians will help you, too," he said, removing his hand and stepping back. Banner dipped his chin, a sense of finality making his stomach drop while he sat up straighter.

"Yeah. I know." And that was the clincher, he would muse later on, the point that ultimately led him to nodding and accepting the offer as it was given. For all his wishes to protect the world from himself, he had failed to grasp that he did not have to do it alone. It wasn't a question of accepting himself, not anymore. It was trusting that others had accepted him, too, all of him. Natasha had tried, but he could acknowledge that he couldn't believe it, not at the time. He had to believe it before anything else could happen.

Perhaps that made him a day late and a dollar short, but he would find a way to make up for the losses.

For his part, Thor watched the iron working its way through his friend, noted the decision made as he stood and went to the bed. Kneeling, he reached underneath, extracting a bag. A flash of dread went through the god's heart upon seeing it, but when the human male merely opened it and retrieved a notebook and pen, he breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

"Perhaps you will be of aid to your students as well," the blond fellow remarked, observing Bruce as he began to scrawl hurriedly over the pages. Smirking, he let his eyebrows incline minutely. "You do have quite a following among the younger set."

"The Other Guy does, at least," Bruce replied, after letting out an audible snort. Tapping the end of his pen against the page after halting his writing, he examined the fast notes he'd taken. It would take some effort, but the plan he was forming to get back into teaching shape was coming together on paper. All he needed was to begin the execution. "I'll have to spend the summer working to renew my accreditation, but it might be able to be expedited."

Thor's smirk turned genuine, and he extended his hand out to Banner. The brunet man managed a weak grin, and chose to answer the high five offered with a fist bump, both of them able to chuckle at the memory of the first time such a thing happened.

"I wish you luck, my friend," Thor told him, honest good feeling flooding through him as Bruce continued to grin. His own smile lessened as he recalled his days in the Learning Halls on Asgard, and he barely repressed a shudder. "For if these children are anything like Loki and I—"

"I'll need it," Banner finished, wincing and rubbing his free hand over his forehead. It would take luck, perseverance, and sheer determination, but he wouldn't take the easy way out. Never again. Thus decided, he continued to scribble down his plans, Thor taking his spot in the chair and eventually falling asleep. And once the snoring began to pour out of the god, Banner fetched up his bag again, a pair of earbuds and the music player he was gifted, losing himself in a sea of operatic arias as he began looking forward to the future.

 **xXxXxXx**

Maria Hill leaned against the back of her chair, sighing silently to herself. The last few weeks had been incredibly busy, between the political meetings and the informal ones between the teams. Recruitment forms were being forwarded at an astonishing rate, and the Academy had already broken ground. The school would be finished by mid-August, Stark had promised, come hell or high water. Thus far, there had been some luck on their side as the summer days remained decent, over all. Construction crews and contractors were working day and night to get it done on time, and she had hopes to see the rough shell of the first floor by the following week.

Given her experience with building crews, though, she wasn't holding her breath. No, a contingency plan was put in place; Stark was going to have to get used to children being underfoot, if his promise to keep them in the Tower held.

She let her attention drift further, though she did know that focus was absolutely necessary that day. Looking out the tinted window wall of her office, she could see the lush green grass of the field surrounding the base, the trees full of life along the borders. Even despite the attempted devastation several days ago, the world had gone on, grown and bloomed, preparing to thrive once more. Thrive without those who had fallen, and those who were leaving...Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy had departed the night before, with little fanfare. Adam, who had been granted the rank of Warlock by Sorcerer Supreme Dr. Strange, had also gone with them, the Infinity Stones in his care and his promise to place them in safety given with honesty. It was all they could do, trust him with the distribution and pray that they would never be joined together again.

Once again, the humans (and partial humans, she reminded herself) were on their own, the knowledge of what truly was out there changing things within, and without.

"There we go," Steve's voice cut through her reverie, and her eyes tore away from the window. He'd risen from his chair in the lounge area of her office, a capped pen in one hand and a sheaf of documents in the other. Measured steps brought him over to the desk, laying all upon her blotter as he dipped his chin. "Last one signed."

Steve's announcement of full retirement, given after the last meeting had finished and all of them were tiredly slugging their way back to a quinjet to take them home, had been met with shock. Shock, and to his surprise, a deep measure of understanding. Not a single member of the team opposed his leaving. Indeed, Natasha had taken it upon herself to mutter about it taking him long enough to figure it out. Nick and Coulson had shared a fast look, but neither would begrudge him his wishes. The latter wouldn't dare to tell his childhood hero what he could or couldn't do, and the former...well, Nick knew better than to push Steve Rogers too far by that point. Instead, they joined in with the well-wishers of his friends, Maria acknowledging that there would be another mountain of paperwork to prepare once they all had gotten home.

She perused the documents briefly; the clean march of his signature and dating adorned the right areas, effectively terminating his employment as an Avenger. Shaking her head, she set them in the out tray, intent on taking them to be notarized and copied within the next day or two.

"It's still difficult to think that you'll be around, but not…crazy," she intoned, glancing up at the now-former commander. Her eyebrow arched the tiniest bit, and she smirked, which caused him to snicker as well.

"I think your definition of that word is skewed a bit," he stated, causing her smirk to turn into a sad smile. Shrugging a shoulder, he let the humor fall from his face slightly, and he sighed. "It's time, Maria."

It was a notion that she did not disagree with. Steve Rogers had been giving his all for the world and for the team since he was brought out of the ice. To be honest, she had thought he would've stuck to his guns two years ago and walked away then, before Fury came back with the offer to make him commander. She knew his cause was lost then, but now...now was different. Everything was different, changing, and it was time to acknowledge that some parts of it had to go on without him at the helm.

"I know," she breathed, water filling her eyes. Standing up from her desk chair, she circled around to the front, opening her arms and enveloping Steve in a rarely-given hug. It took him a moment to reciprocate, but once he did, she squeezed him hard around the middle to demonstrate the honesty of the gesture. She would miss him being around all the time, would miss his fierce determination and truth. Patting his back, she murmured, "Take care of yourself, Steve. You're always welcome back."

"I know," he replied, pulling out of her embrace and smirking down at her. "I saw the addendum in the contract."

Maria grinned cheekily through her tears at that. It was the same addendum that had been weaved into Rhodey contract, the one that offered him a place with the organization as a consultant, should the need arise. However, when she had scanned over the signatures, she had noted that, beyond signing his name, Rogers had written a stipulation: not for at least five years. Most likely, he would say it wasn't his place anymore, and it would be best to leave the tactical plans to those who would be involved fully from the outset. Still, she lifted a shoulder at him, walking him with him out the door to the elevator.

In silence, they rode down to the first floor, Steve fidgeting on and off as the numbers ticked by. The hardest part of the good-byes was coming, and she knew it as well. Discreetly wiping at her eyes, she adopted her calm, cool persona, evening her expression out in time for the conveyance to halt and the doors to swish open. Stepping out after him, she held out her hand to him, the public farewell to be given stoically between them.

With his own expression settling into serenity, he shook her hand, the corner of his mouth curving in that familiar way. "See you around."

"Good-bye, Captain Rogers," she said, returning the brief smile before releasing his hand and stepping back. Facing forward, she looked through the panes of the glass walls and the double doors leading onto the open-air front lobby. The whole room was packed with agents and officers, technicians and data specialists, all of them there to send the captain off to his future. A division of Fury's own foot soldiers were there to act as barriers in case anyone tried to grab at or manhandle Steve, but thus far, they'd all been behaving. Her bright eyes flicked over to her friend, watching as he drew in a deep breath, and then he stepped through the doors, the tread of his boots on the linoleum floor echoing straight up to the rafters. Total silence followed his first few steps, hundreds of eyes glued to him, before someone dared to shout a good luck wish to him. With gathering speed, an avalanche of good-byes and well-wishes fell upon him, ringing throughout as he walked. Sheepishness tightened his shoulders, but he still managed to hold himself erect and direct a couple of light waves and salutes to those gathered. Maria watched it all, observed the great American hero as he exited out the front door one last time.

It was the right send-off for him, she thought, though he would certainly disagree with her. In the end, she knew it wouldn't be what he remembered about the day. No, he'd recall the freedom he was given, the drive away into peace, to the home he shared with his family, to wait for his wife to return after him and enjoy her company along with their children's. Retreating to the elevator once again, she hit the number for the floor just below hers, intent on finding the other fellow she had to meet that day. It didn't take long, the click of her heels accompanying her as she went. Passing by the commander's now-empty office (he'd spent the better part of two days clearing out his personal memorabilia, his wife and the other team members aiding him in the process), she clicked her tongue as she rounded the corner, knocking at the blacked-out door. A voice inside bade her to enter, and so she did, nodding to the fellow at his desk.

Bucky Barnes, and the rest of the healed team at the base, did not see Steve off that day. Private farewells had been done earlier, and that was enough for them. Instead, he'd been buried in his own set of paperwork, additions made to his own contract to be analyzed and signed off. As there would be no commander, he and Natasha, along with Maria, would be splitting Steve's duties among themselves. He'd grumbled about it being more busy work for him, but he hadn't made any other objections when she set the documents before him that morning.

His cornflower blue eyes darted up as he scratched his pen along the dotted line, meeting her clear gaze, and he snorted once, conveying his continued dislike of the activity before him. Knowing better than to pick at that chip, Maria looked around his office. It was less barren than it had been in the past, his gifted shield on a hook on the wall with a few of Steve's comic covers framed and hung up. A couple of personal photographs—several with Natasha, a couple with Steve, and a rare one with Holly and little Grant—perched upon his desk, all nestled into the smaller space.

"Not going to move into the new office?" she queried, crossing the room and examining one of the comic covers. She already knew the answer to that question, but she knew he would at least gift her with a verbal answer.

"Not my office. Not really," he retorted, his tone softer than she'd expected it to be. Looking at him, she caught the sad lilt to his grin before he directed his attention back to the final few sheets of paper in front of him. "I'll stay here, if you don't mind."

"Eh, just means I'll still be able to find you." Shaking her head, she approached the edge of the desk, spying the hardening lines of his form before he visibly forced them to relax. Old habits, she mused darkly, pointedly glossing over them and dipping her chin at the documents. "Finished with those?"

A fast, inelegant scrawl was etched out, and Bucky gathered them up. "Yeah."

Pushing them across his desk's surface, he met Maria's gaze as she took his signed contract, yet another stack to get formalized in between everything else that needed to be done.

"Monday debriefing is at 8:30 sharp," she reminded him, clearing her throat and pushing past the small lump still residing within. "Be there, Barnes."

The brunet man snorted, rolling his eyes. "Planning on it."

That said, the woman nodded once more, striding out of the office with the no-nonsense swagger all had come to associate with her. With the door clicking shut behind her, Bucky blew out another breath, leaning back in his chair and tilting his face up at the ceiling. In only a few short hours, once the paperwork was made official, he would be the head of the Avengers. The enormous responsibility of it all seemed to weigh down upon him in that moment, threatening to sink him. Of course, it had been decided that as Captain America, he would step into Steve's shoes once he'd vacated the premises, but it was one thing to think about it happening, and another altogether to have it truly start.

He was still in his prone position, pondering the strange turns of events that had brought him to that point in his life, when he heard the door creak open again. He willed himself to remain relaxed, as only one person was granted unrestricted access to his office. Sitting up, his lips stretched into a grin as Natasha walked over to him. Her saunter was still a little hindered, as her numerous cuts and bruises were healing, but she had soldiered on in her stubborn determined way. A hand, the one with the splint upon it, came to rest upon his bionic shoulder as she rounded the desk, her ocean-colored eyes lighting up as he scooted his chair back. The proffered seat, punctuated by him patting his lap, was not lost upon her, and so she sat down, gingerly adjusting herself as she did so (trying to minimize the jostling done to Bucky's person, which was unavoidable—if the stain of red crawling up his neck was any indication).

For several long minutes, they sat there, the distant click of the air conditioning met with the minute, electrical hum that seemed to pervade the building. The weight of the last several days hovered around them, but as ever, they were steadied in one another's presence, the silence between them holding far more than words could ever express.

Still, when her arm curled around his shoulders and she rested her cheek against his head, Natasha did have something to express.

"I have to say, when this all started six years ago, I had not thought that this would be the endgame," she murmured, her eyes lighting upon the other documents in Bucky's tray. All proposals, treaties, and plans for the coming months had been forwarded to all of them, and she'd spent the afternoon perusing them at her leisure. Truly, six years ago, she'd been an agent of SHIELD, one cog in the machine. The fact that she'd become a major player on the board, had become a force to be reckoned with in her own right beyond that which was forced into her as a child, was mind-boggling enough. Clint came to mind then, his face when she'd pronounced how nothing they had dealt with as far as Loki was concerned, way back when, was anything they could have even imagined.

Now, reality was far more than imagination could conjure up, and even she had to take a moment to absorb it all.

Bucky leaned back a little, raising an eyebrow at her words. "What did you imagine?"

She shrugged, stating matter-of-factly, "Burning out in some backwater, one step ahead of the law and one foot in the grave."

Barnes blinked at that, unable to refute the statement. After all, he'd projected meeting the same sort of end when he'd been on the run, lost and afraid of what he'd become. And terrified of what he could still turn into.

"So you're saying this worked out better than you'd thought," he conjectured after several seconds, the comprehension in his eyes matching that of his lover's.

"Despite the battles and the war," she retorted, leaning forward and nuzzling his temple. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she told him, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Enjoying her tenderness, he still managed a dry scoff. "Really."

His flat tone did not deter her. Instead, Natasha dared to smirk at him before dropping a peck on his cheek. "Long as you're here, too, _Medved'_."

His hand, the flesh one, cradled the back of her neck, coaxing her down again until his lips pressed against hers. Slow, sweet, and gentle, the affection beneath it buoyed them both, allowed them to touch upon the hope and goodness still left in their hearts as they embraced.

"Well said, sugar," Bucky whispered when he pulled away, bracing his forehead against hers. Arms slung around her waist, bringing her closer, and the tightness in his grasp had her glancing down at him. The pensive expression returned, along with the furrow on his brow, and she shook her head.

"You can do this," she said, encouragement in her voice as she raised her thumb and smoothed it over his thinking lines. Another squeeze of her waist, and he met her eye-line again.

" _We_ can do this," he iterated, reminding her that it would not be all on him. Without the commander, it would fall on each and every one of them to uphold the name and reputation they'd earned in the past. And, of course, see it into the future. Thinking about that for a moment or two, he snickered and mumbled, "And we can call Steve to pester him if needed."

Natasha outright laughed at that, planting a smacking kiss on his forehead. "Sure, tempt Holly's wrath in the process, too. See what good that does ya."

Cornflower blue eyes darkened, and Bucky pressed closer, lips barely brushing over his girlfriend's when yet another knock came at the door. Groaning under his breath, he barely bit back a whine when the redhead on his lap rose up, seating herself on the desktop instead. Taking his metal hand and resting it upon her knee, she choked down a chuckle when he squeezed and brushed his thumb back and forth. Clearing her throat, she called out for the knocker to come in.

The click of the latch gave way, and soon enough the person at the door poked his head in. Dark brown eyes settled on them both, and a knowing smirk stretched his lips. Just beside him stood a blue-haired woman, her own brown gaze lighting mischievously. Sam had come by, Kay at his side yet again. Once the battle had been won and the teams had been brought to the helicarrier, the pair had been inseparable. It was something that Bucky could not hold against them after all, he could only imagine that he'd react similarly if he'd been isolated from Natasha as they had been.

Instead of chiding him for stepping on a moment, he coughed once and eyed him up. "Wilson, what brings you by?"

Sam's smirk grew a fraction, his hand reaching and taking his girlfriend's before he spoke.

"Give that we're all basically on leave until the middle of July, we were wondering if you two would like to come on a trip with us," he said, surprising both the new Captain America and the Black Widow. It was true; after the efforts made to help those who had fought in the battle, to repair the damaged fields, and all the meetings, it was decided that both teams would be granted a leave of absence, due to start the next week. Lang fully intended to taken advantage of it, to bring his daughter out for the Fourth of July to stay with him for awhile, they knew. What would it hurt to do the same?

However, it did strike them both as a bit suspicious, giving the veritable glow surrounding Kay and the sense of smug satisfaction playing around Wilson's words. Looking at Natasha, Bucky wasn't surprised to see Natasha's eyebrow raising, skepticism clear on her face.

"A trip? Where to?" she inquired mildly, not even bothering to hide the curiosity beneath her placid tone. Kay reached up, tucked back the strands of her hair before flapping her hand through the air nonchalantly.

"…Vegas. Y'know, check out casinos, shows, get away from it all," she stated, her voice entirely too even and calm to be taken seriously.

"Uh-huh," Natasha muttered, her eyebrow spiking even higher. When that merited no more than a wider smile from Kay and a shrug from Sam, she turned to look at her boyfriend. "What do you think, James?"

The flat, cold look on Barnes's face brought to mind his old moniker, the coolness in his gaze having them all on their toes as he inhaled deeply.

"…Get me out of here by noon on Monday, or no dice," he stated firmly, the barest quirk at the corner of his mouth tugging. Wilson smirked at him, slinging his arm around his girl's waist and nodding fast.

"Trust me, we'll be gone as soon as Hill gives the signal," he promised, going further into the office and fully shutting the door behind them. It was time to discuss plans, and once the privacy controls were set into place by Bucky, they would begin plotting. After all, they only had three days to discuss it all, and it needed to work out. It just had to, for all of them.

 **xXxXxXx**

Tony Stark pushed back from the computer set-up before him, the high definition displays folding back into the wall as he blew out a sigh. The shades across the windowed walls rose, the light of the afternoon sun bleeding in and illuminating the skyscrapers surrounding the Tower. The last few weeks had been busy, and it felt as though he couldn't catch his breath. He had just returned from the last of the major meetings, Pepper at his side as they left the capital. The others, barring Rhodey and the directors of the organization, had long since departed, plans being sorted (as Chapman had said, towing his CIA agent-girlfriend along with him once he'd finally been given the chance to go) and the future to be laid down. The remainder of the teams, of those who had pledged their service to them—Murdock's merry band of heroes for hire included in that bunch, once they'd recovered enough to walk themselves to a quinjet—were departing for home, to begin shifting the gears once again. For his own part, Stark had been eager to get the contractors cracking on building the rest of the Academy. It would take finesse and some elbow grease, but with no less than three contracting companies hired for the job, he was determined to meet the deadline to get the school built.

With that accomplished, he could focus on helping rebuild the team. And his life, too, but like everything else, that would take time. Time, and healing. Another slow breath crawled out his nose, fingers rubbing idly at the center of his chest, the scar there planed away to something far less formidable those days.

Glancing at the clock, he figured it was time to check in. That, and to implement yet another part of the extensive plans the teams had agreed on. This one, however, was a private agreement, done away from prying eyes and intrusive secretaries. After all, it would involve Peter Parker, and focus upon him was not meant to happen. He likely was suffering from so much of it, though it definitely wasn't in the adoring-fan way.

May Parker had given them all an earful when Peter had been returned, covered in bruises and walking shakily from the quinjet days before the D.C. meetings. The thankfulness she expressed in them releasing him into her care, and keeping his identity secret still by not involving him in the proceedings, was superseded by the frustration that he'd blatantly risked his life. It had done none of them any good to mention that Parker had been able to go of his own volition, Peter included, and in the end, all she had needed to do was to unleash her excess spleen. Once he was safely back in her care, May focused on helping her boy recover.

Evidently, she had deemed him recovered enough to resume his experimentation in his private laboratory space, as was demonstrated when JJ reported the young man's arrival to the building an hour beforehand. Making his way down to the correct floor, Tony paused in the doorway of the space, observing the kid as he bopped around. Earbuds were shoved in, the muted crash of the music picked up by his own ears. He winced outright at that, but he did not attempt to correct Parker's hearing damage as he began to sway a little harder to the beat. He was holding one of the gloves to his suit, a pair of tweezers in one hand as he began to thread a piece of weave back into place. Bopping some more, he looked up then, jerking violently when he spotted his mentor watching him with marked amusement in his features.

"Tony,"the kid gasped, fumbling the glove and nearly smacking his still-bruised knee into the table in the process. Once he'd caught the glove and set it down carefully, he let out a shaky laugh, combing down his skewed hair. "I, uh, I promise I'm just tweaking stuff. Going easy like Dr. Cho said."

Tony raised an eyebrow, finally releasing his lip when he knew for certain that he would not laugh.

"Sure you are, kid," he teased, sending him a mocking wink. All joking, he knew that Parker had been following the doctor's (and his aunt's) instructions to a tee. After all, if he didn't heal properly, he couldn't continue to assault Queens with his spidery-ness. Frowning a bit at the inane word flitting through his mind, he brushed it off and waved for the boy to follow him. "Come with me for a minute."

Peter let his eyebrows incline as he slowly followed Tony out into the hall, his limping hardly detracting from the curiosity rising within.

"Last time you said that, I got dragged into a battle with a giant psycho grape in armor," he muttered, wincing as he maneuvered around the table, brushing a hand subconsciously against the healing bruise on his chin. Stark let the corner of his mouth twitch, and he clicked his tongue.

"True. But really, it is about as important."

Parker said nothing more, merely letting the older man lead the way to the elevators. Down several floors, and after crossing on one to another elevator bank, he found that they were exiting onto one of the apartment floors. The curiosity increased as he limped after Tony, pausing beside him as he came upon one of the few interior rooms. Looking through the window, he blinked. Six teenagers, either his age or a little younger, were seated in the kitchen and dining space, apparently not aware of their presence just yet. A girl with square-framed glasses and purple hair seemed to be trading remarks with a young Asian lady, both of them picking through the delivery bags and withdrawing the cartons that had been sent up to them. A blonde girl sat at one end of the table, nodding at something the Latina beside her was saying, her bright eyes straying toward the other end of the table. Two boys sat there, the African-American kid tugging at the ends of his layered sweatshirt and t-shirt before rolling his eyes. The brunet boy at his right leaned back in his chair, his own gaze lingering on the blonde girl on and off when he thought she wasn't looking. Soon enough, the six of them were devouring their lunch

To any outsider, they could've been a bunch of interns taking a break, but there was something about them that gave off the air of something more. The flick of eyes, the tightness that never seemed to leave their postures...it made the hairs on Peter's arm rise, and he let out a soft huff of a breath.

"Who are they?" Peter asked, confusion lighting his features. Tony waved a hand at the glass, expelling a sigh.

"They will eventually be in the graduating classes of '19, '20, and '21. Our first batch of Academy students." His dark eyes met Peter's, the look in them saying it all. They were Enhanced, or Inhumans, of some sort, and Peter felt his own eyes widen. Tony had mentioned that the directors were looking for somewhere to put new students lacking in housing, but he hadn't thought that they'd be relegated to the Tower. Clearly, he was wrong on that assumption. Nonchalantly shifting his stance, the older man cut through his thoughts and confessed, "Coulson tracked them down, took them in when their families turned them out. They'll be spending the summer here, for safety reasons, but…"

The first ring of alarms began to spike inside Peter's head. "But what?"

"They're very tight-knit, and they…" Tony trailed off, blowing out another breath. "Look, I'm going to straight-out admit that I, with very few exceptions, am not the greatest with kids. And with the rest of the teams working with the newest crowd crawling out of the woodwork, and the five million things I have to do between now and November, we could use your help."

The odd reference to November stuck out to Peter, but he backlogged the information for a later time. At the moment, there was a far more pressing issue to attend to.

"My help?" he wondered, brow furrowing as he looked at the assorted teenagers milling about in the smaller room. Tony inclined his head, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.

"Yeah. Meet them, talk to them, bond over the hippest new social media app, something." Off of Parker's skeptical glance, Stark lifted a shoulder, nodding to the glass once more. "Peter, despite the minor differences in your beginnings, you have a lot in common with these kids. And you've worked with us. You might…you might be able to prepare them."

The truth in his tone was what enabled Peter to see how right Tony was. Though it hadn't been a genetic disposition, Parker was essentially Enhanced himself, with powers thrust upon him at an age when he could barely keep his head on straight for the "normal" teenage stuff that was flying at him. He'd managed to get by, thrive even, but it hadn't been easy. Many sacrifices, many errors, had brought him to that point, and even still, he felt unprepared for his life as it was most days. He was a war survivor, had squared off with an alien and somehow survived, after spending the previous year battling the baddies of Queens. It didn't take a genius to note how atypical that was, and how he would have floundered if he hadn't had a base to touch in those times. Some strange form of luck, or fate, had put him in the path of the Avengers, and they'd helped him get by.

Still, he wouldn't deny that, had he been able to talk to someone nearer his age, some of those hairy times and situations might have been better (Ned was a great friend, but despite his enthusiasm, he was not of the Enhanced, superhero world). And now, these kids were in the same boat as he had been: lost, afraid of the future, and reaching out, hoping someone would reach back.

Perhaps he could be that someone, the someone he never really had. He was grateful for the opportunities he'd been able to have over the last couple of years, for Tony and Steve and the others to help him along the way, but...this was still more, the more that he had been missing.

Dipping his chin, he swallowed hard. "I…I'll do what I can."

"If all else fails, go with honesty. Works remarkably well."

Peter's grin returned then, a good-natured eye roll following. "Yeah."

That said, the kid—the young man, Stark reflected—went to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and going in. Watching through the glass, Tony observed the six at the table tense up, though when Peter merely waved and said hello, they managed to relax after a few seconds. The brunet boy rose from his seat, actually going around to greet him with a hand shake. The other boy gave him a dubious glance over the rims of his glasses, but appeared calm enough to return the hello Peter obviously gave him. Due to his own personal settings, he was not listening in on the teens (though he was sure that stuck in Fury's craw, when he insisted on their right to privacy on their floor). This was the right thing to do, and he was glad he'd thought to implement it.

After all, having a handful of empowered, grumpy teens with no one outside of their group to commiserate with them would be a bad idea. He was looking out for the teachers coming in (making sure Bruce wouldn't go green after they gave him a coronary). Considering the job done, he pivoted on his heel, leaving Parker to his task and setting himself back on track with his other duties.

Later that evening, when he finally called it quits—when Pepper tempted him with two pizzas and his favorite Scotch—he relayed his stroke of genius to her, doing his best to adhere to the honesty he'd mentioned working before. When he noted how better suited to the task the kid was than he, his wife shot him that look. The look was one she sported when she couldn't quite believe what had come out of his mouth, when she thought he was woefully incorrect about something. It made one of the lines in her forehead surface, her eyes crinkling at the corners while her irises seemed to shine a bit.

"You're not bad with kids, Tony," she stated softly, putting down her own slice and taking his hand. "You just don't have a lot of experience."

That was fair, he supposed; the times he spent with children, beyond signing autographs and posing for pictures, could be counted on one hand. He thought about Harley, now roughly Peter's age. Last he'd heard (due to his own nosiness) he was on track to go to one of the top tech colleges in Tennessee. Likely he didn't want to leave his mom or sister behind just yet, but he wouldn't begrudge him that. And Peter...well, Peter was definitely another exception to the rule.

Tony was no daycare worker, he could say that much, but that didn't mean he had an active dislike of children. Just...infrequent exposure. And that, as he knew, would not be permanent.

"Well, that's gonna change," he noted, the curve of his mouth widening as he reached over, laying his hand upon her belly. She was a few months along, and due to her thinner stature, she was already hinting at showing. Not enough to spark the gossip mills of the media, but he noticed.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, her palm resting over his fingers. Bright eyes met his, her features taking on a serious cast. "No turning back now, right?"

He met her gaze fully, the brief spike of uncertainty and fear squashed the longer he looked at her. On his own, a child was never something he thought he would have. But with Pepper, it was different. It was always different with her, and deep down, he knew it would be the same once their bun popped out of the oven. And...with them, he didn't mind different.

"…Nope," he said, settling back against the sofa and grabbing up another slice along the way. Basking in the warm glow of her smile, he munched at his pizza for awhile before announcing, "I already have a few ideas about crib modifications, depending on which model we get."

Pepper shook her head, red-gold hair swinging as she jabbed her finger at him. "You put any sort of thruster or repulsor on our baby's bed, I will punch you."

Tony grinned proudly at her, dipping his chin. "That's my girl."

* * *

 **A/N:**...More ends tied up, with the plans for the school proceeding, as well as the idea of bringing fresh blood into the mix. Bruce decides to stay this time, and test himself in becoming a teacher. As well as that, Steve tenders his resignation, Bucky takes on more of the responsibilities, and Stark and Peter take on the Runaways.

...We are one chapter away from the end, my friends. I have...so many feelings and thoughts swirling in my head about all that, but I will wait to address them in the author's notes for that chapter. For this one, I just hope you enjoyed this; it's nearly midnight when I'm posting this, so I'm a little tired and loopy, ha. I do intend to post the last chapter in the next few days, so keep your eyes peeled for it.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	20. Chapter 20

The bronze, scuffed M-ship descended through the atmosphere of the planet, the fires of days past long since burned out. Much of the city had been rebuilt after the assault, the survivors actually tidying up the place to appear better than it had in the past. The light and warmth of the star it circled enveloped it, shadows shortening as the peak of the day was to be met. One by one, the occupants of the vessel exited, their landing permit passed into the hands of the captain by one of the pad's attendants. After receiving a grunt to be back in a day's time, the ragtag team pushed forth, the creatures lining the streets below only affording fast, disinterested glances. Peter Quill was perfectly at ease with that notion, as there was work to do.

As Thor had stated to Bruce, he had left with them, chartering their vessel to ferry him home. The leave-taking was done with little ceremony, much like when he had detained Loki and brought him home for justice. Once again, he had the stone of the Tesseract, as well as the stone of the scepter. To Wanda, he had whispered promises to see to the mysteries of it, to find a way to bring back her love, but she'd only smiled wanly and hugged him farewell. It was difficult, difficult to leave the earth behind, but it had to be done.

The capital of Asgard was in the process of being rebuilt yet again, the lead warriors greeting them upon landing. The lady Sif had charged ahead, throwing her arms around her friend. The remainder of the party was given a reserved nod, though it appeared to be slightly more reverent when it came to Adam. For his part, Peter was willing to bow his neck and be content with his lot as a royal guest for a few days. The two Infinity stones were brought down to Odin's vault, locked away for the time being. During the feast ordered that night for the homecoming, Gamora had nudged his arm nodding to where Sif and Thor were seated on the upper dais. To an outside observer, they looked to be no more than in close-headed conference, but the linger gaze and light touches passed between them spoke of it being more. Having learned something of the god's liaison with a physicist back on Earth (some of the Avengers, while brilliant fighters and tacticians, were horrible gossips when bedridden), he was surprised to see the affection brewing there. Perhaps he'd healed faster than could be anticipated. Or, likely since they knew each other for centuries, something in the Asgardian had come to light. Either way, he did not begrudge them their blooming affections.

How could he, when he had his own beside him, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder, regardless of who saw? (Only took four years, but hey, he wasn't going to be picky now.)

The days upon the planet passed, and with their ship refueled and a couple of the dings repaired, the Asgardian prince bid them farewell. He was dressed for mourning, deep black and purple robes encompassing him, and his eyes held deep sadness as well. It was time to commemorate their dead, and then the real work would begin, he'd noted dully. Still, he managed to give them all bear hugs in good-bye, though he reserved a fist bump for Groot and Rocket (the raccoon-like creature was grateful not to be crushed in his embrace, and Groot was okay with not being touched, period; he recently developed a thing about not being touched, go figure). Adam bowed low to him, murmuring something about meeting again in the future, and Thor managed a weak grin, a joke about hoping it would be on better terms than before dripping from his lips. That said, the others went into the ship, and as he sat in the cockpit, Quill looked upon the crown prince, simple and solid even amidst the guard that surrounded him. Perhaps they would meet again, and it wouldn't involve the destruction of the universe.

Maybe.

For the moment, though, he turned his thoughts to the present, following Adam as he led the way through the streets. The capital of Knowhere was bustling, despite the grievous injuries it was dealt in recent memory. The Sovereign being attracted a few stares, with his height and golden everything shining out amidst the dirt and dull browns, but one look from his gleaming eyes, and the citizens focused on other things. It did not take them long to reach their destination, and so the odd glimpse or two were easily ignored. Adam himself said nothing, just absently adjusted the satchel strapped to his waist and kept walking until they found the place they were looking for. Stepping through the broken doorway, the Guardians of the Galaxy took in the sight.

The Collector's museum, his gallery, his prison...it had not been even remotely touched since the attack. Given what Nebula had been able to deduce, it was doubtless that the others of the planet were able to break in and discover the truth, too. Housing the Collector had, in the end, not paid off for them, and so it seemed they would avenge the carnage wrought by ignoring what he'd brought, what he'd housed. Mantis let her hands spread out, gingerly touching a few cases as she passed them, an odd hiss or two floating out. Though there was no real connection to any of the creatures kept there, she did read residual emotions, and given the harsh look eclipsing her dark eyes, it was obvious none of them were positive. Drax kept his eyes upon her, crossing his arms and leaning against a still-standing wall partition, while the others poked and prodded here and there.

"Wow…" Quill murmured, looking at the charred remains of the great room. Shattered glass and twisted metal littered the space, the door to the security hanging open and revealing the sparking wires of components stolen. Shaking his head, he tapped a booted foot against one of the chunks on the floor, grunting, "You'd think they would've done something with this place."

"It is left as a reminder," Adam murmured, unmoved by the wreckage. Like Nebula, he'd happened upon it while searching for answers, one of the clues that led him to tracking them down. It was a shame, though, and he let the sadness of it color his tone. "Ultimately, the Collector sought knowledge, knowledge of the expanding universe. When it became possessive was when it became his downfall."

Gamora, crouching in front of a pile of ashes, glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes narrowing. "Knowledge wasn't his downfall."

Rocket snorted audibly, casually leaning his shoulder against a burned crate. "No, holding onto that rock was. It really ain't that profound."

The Sovereign being shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe not, but if he had done more, found the right place to bring it to safety, sought out the truth that could have spared this planet, it would have helped."

As he spoke, he reached into the bag tied to his hip, opening the flap of the satchel and withdrawing a small, reinforced containment unit. Constructed by the Asgardians, it was enough to contain the Aether, morphing from its stone form and back into the misting red cloud it could be within. Ultimately, it was Groot who found what they were all looking for, his rooted foot clanging against it after several moments. Clearing away the remainder of the debris, they found the grounded safe, the sealed door busted open and its contents removed. Gently, Adam knelt upon the floor, lowering the containment unit into it before shutting the door, gesturing Rocket over. The raccoon creature reached into his own pouches, collapsible tools assembled to form a sort of portable soldering and welding device. Donning thick goggles (also fetched from a pouch, he bade the others to step away and turn their backs so they wouldn't be blinded as he sealed the unit inside.

"And so…we leave it here again?" Drax wondered, eyeing the Sovereign being dubiously before snorting. "Sounds stupid."

Not offended in the slightest by his wording, the golden-skinned fellow cupped a hand in the air. "Well, who is going to look for something in the same place twice? It will do, until I can find where it belongs."

Gamora and Mantis shared a glance at that, the green-skinned beauty speaking up first.

"So that's your mission then, Adam?" she asked him, wanting full clarification that time. She had suspected that he would only travel so far in their company, and here he was proving her correct. Fixing a mischievous look upon him, she muttered, "No more ravaging for you."

"No," he retorted, smirking back at her and shaking his head. There was too much to be done still, answers to be found among the stars. As a stone bearer himself, he had to see to it that he could find out what could be done, if the Infinity Stones would be safer in separate holding places or not. The remaining stone, in its own containment unit in the bag, would go with him to another planet, to rest and hide while he sought out what to do. Grimacing as he turned over another thought, he mumbled, "Nor do I relish chasing down an Asgardian reprobate. I'll leave that to you."

Peter snickered at that. Before they'd left Asgard, Thor had charged them with a final duty: to track down his trouble-making adoptive brother, now the commander of Thanos' ship. It was doubtful he would stay in command of it for long, but it was the starting point, and Thor knew that they would likely be able to find him before he ventured too far out in the universe.

"Fair enough," the human male retorted, passing a hand through his hair before offering it to the Sovereign being. Slowly, carefully, Adam put his hand in his, still unfamiliar with the gesture, but enduring it as Peter pumped up and down. "If you ever do want a spot on the ship, though, we can always use another set of hands."

Dropping his hand, Adam let a corner of his mouth curl, his head inclining at them all as he took a step back.

"I'm sure we'll cross paths in the future, one way or another, Star-Lord," he crooned, nodding a last farewell just as Rocket announced that the safe was sealed. Ducking out through the doorway, the Sovereign being turned right out onto the street, disappearing after a few moments. Clearing his throat, Quill jerked his head back toward where the safe was resting, all of them choosing to sweep and move debris to cover it for the time being. Once that was complete, the raccoon-like creature rubbed his paws together, gesturing to his fellows widely as he disassembled his tools and packed them away.

"Ready to chase down that missing prince now?" he asked, dark eyes glittering at the thought. "Thor did promise us a decent bounty."

The Guardians all looked to one another, and then collectively at Peter. Squaring his shoulders, the human male tilted his head to the side, considering the idea.

"Sure. Well, once we figure out a few leads," he pronounced, knowing that tracking Thanos' ship would only take them so far. They needed more to go on, and would have to start ferreting out that information as they went. And in the meantime, there were plenty of other fish to fry. "Until then, let's go find some work to tide us over, huh?"

Drax smirked, looping an arm over Mantis' shoulder, and Gamora inclined her head, the first tendrils of her sorrow dissipating appearing in her irises.

"Sounds good to me," she said, patting the handle of her sheathed blade at her hip.

"I am Groot," the root creature rumbled, and Peter gave out a little whoop at that, gesturing for them all to follow him back to the _Milano_ , the work of the galaxy awaiting them.

 **xXxXxXx**

The curtains on the window automatically began to rise, the daylight brightening the space little by little. The sounds of the city beyond were muted, but the glow of the morning sun upon the windows of the skyscrapers reflected back, showing the day to be cloudless and open. Steve Rogers, with his back turned to the window, did not see any of it, had not noticed the retracting curtains or the brightness of the day. He was still asleep, the furrow of his brow gone as he rested peacefully. Nightmares still plagued his sleep, but after a month back upon Earth, he was finally able to rest a bit more easily. (Easily, that could be attributed to his retirement, the talks he'd been having with his therapist, and spending time with his family, all of which he did proclaim to Holly a few evenings previously, but she reckoned he would've gotten to that point, eventually.) As it was Independence Day as well, it was a good opportunity for him to push past his typical wake-up time, not including the hours spent taking care of the infant or the toddler in the vicinity.

However, once the curtains were up, and the light of the day came through the windowed wall of the bedroom in the Tower, he was not allowed to push past it much longer.

"Daddy! Daddy, up!" a high-pitched voice crashed through his dreams, and he groaned into his pillow as the sheets at his shoulder were tugged. Grant was definitely awake now, and his son had decided, roughly a week or so previously, that when he was awake, his father had to be, too.

"'M up, I'm up," he mumbled, starting to roll onto his back. As he did so, he had no time to prepare as his son flopped bodily atop his stomach. The wind was almost knocked out of him, and Steve groaned as he palmed Grant's back, the toddler giggling madly as he shook his head. Under his breath, he muttered, "The one time I sleep in…"

The mattress shifted again, and he looked over at Holly, Iris in her arms and a teasing grin on her lips. "And now you know how it feels, sweetheart."

Steve narrowed his eyes playfully at her, unable to refute that. After all, he'd aided their eldest in crawling onto the bed to wake her in the past, and had known that she would likely get him back in some fashion.

"Hmm," he merely hummed, pushing himself to sit up. Lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, a good-morning kiss given by Holly to be a buffer for the rest of the morning. For the holiday, and for his 100th birthday, Tony had promised a bash of epic proportions, and he would not allow them the excuse of bowing out. Therefore, the entire Rogers clan had made the trip down to the city, Bonnie coming with as well. It was merely the first stop, as the remainder of the base workers (and therefore Holly, though her manager was fuming at the idea that she would be absent with corporate sanctioning yet again—despite the fact that he would be gone, too) were given leave for the rest of the week. The next day, they would be trekking down to Annapolis, Sarah Johnson and her husband Aaron intent on hosting them. It had been too long since his wife had seen her best friend, and it would be interesting to be on a trip a full-blown, regular citizen for the first time in decades.

Right at that moment, though, they had to first get through the promised shenanigans.

"Daddy, come pway," Grant implored, grabbing his father's hand with both of his and tugging. The strength in the little guy had grown quite a bit since the previous year, and it was obvious as he pulled again in an attempt to get Steve out of the bed. Holly giggled at her boy's attempt and rose from the bed, giving Iris light taps on the back to burp her.

"Go on," she declared to her husband, nodding for him to get to it. Once the blond man pushed back the blankets and got up, he scooped up the little guy, the toddler chattering happily and wiggling. Blue eyes darted out the door, and the brunette woman heard his stomach growl loudly, too. The corner of her mouth lifted, and she waved him out to get some food. Following them out, she saw Steve pause on the threshold to the open-plan kitchen, an eyebrow rising at the covered platters set upon the counter. Quickly, she explained, "Breakfast was catered. Why don't we live here, again?"

Steve snorted audibly, and as he opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted.

"Now that you are awake, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark has requested I begin your birthday play-list," JJ announced then, and before either husband or wife could do more than look at one another, music started pumping into the apartment. As the singer growled out how proud he was to be an American, Steve ground the heel of his palm against his forehead, and Holly gave a pronounced wince, covering Iris' exposed ear (the other safely covered by her chest).

"…Never mind."

A sharp command for the AI to shut off the music fell from Steve's mouth, as well as a desire to see what was underneath the platter covers, and so breakfast was passed in relative peace. Steve got more than his fill—as Tony could well remember the sort of appetite a super-soldier could have since he last lived at the Tower—and Grant was able to play with his father, the toys he'd brought with from the house scattered around the wide living room. Holly sat on the couch with Iris, the nearly two-month-old sat up in her mommy's lap and her big eyes watching everything. Bonnie trotted around the two males, nosing at the boy and a doggy smile on her muzzle when the man scratched her belly. Soon enough, the clock wound around, and it was time to start preparing for the party.

"We don't have to do this, if you don't want," Steve said to Holly as they were changing clothes, their children in the cribs that had been set up for them. Her dark eyes shot over to him, both eyebrows inclining, and he affected nonchalance as he buttoned up his shirt. "It might be difficult for the kids, and I'll completely understand if—"

"Nice try, Steven," she interrupted him, ending his speech before he could wind up any further. Shaking her head and shucking the lightweight dress she'd chosen onto her body, she announced, "We're going."

The bigger man visibly deflated at that, though he kept his expression neutral. Steve really wasn't a fan of large parties, or crowds or people swarming him, which was all but guaranteed to happen that day. Holly, knowing it all too well, straightened her dress before padding over to him. Stepping up behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek resting against his back as he let out a sigh. A gentle peck was planted at the base of his neck when she went up on tiptoe, hoping to assuage his concerns.

"Just one more big blow-out, and then we can let Tony worry about his fiftieth," she promised him, counting on Stark's public-minded persona to assert itself over the coming years once the day was done. Steve turned in her arms, dipping his chin.

"Right," he intoned, warming to the idea of Stark's focus being drawn elsewhere. "Plus he'll have a good number of other parties to plan, once Pepper has the…"

Blue eyes went wide as he let the statement peter away, realizing the error he had made. His wife, however was looking at him curiously.

"Once Pepper has…" She blinked, and then wonderment filled her face. "Oh, my God. She's pregnant, isn't she?"

Steve coughed, stepping out of her embrace and starting to fiddle with his watch strap. "…Officially, I've said nothing."

"Noted," she replied absently, joy lighting her features at the thought of a woman she considered a friend being pregnant. Another thought occurred to her then, and her smile dimmed. "Holy crap, this is huge. That poor kid is gonna have an insane life."

"Given who the father is, I think that will be a safe bet." Fully comprehending the irony of his words, the captain turned to his wife, shrugging a shoulder and offering, "Won't be too different from our children's lives."

Holly inhaled deeply, her smile returning after a second or two. "Fair point. Hopefully they can be friends and gripe to each other about their parents, huh?"

Steve grinned his agreement at that, and begged her to be discreet about the news, since there was no announcement yet from either Tony or Pepper. Promising to be the soul of discretion, Holly did a fast happy dance in place, exorcising her enthusiasm before they went upstairs. The party was to be held in the vast open lounge on the upper decks, and it wouldn't do for them to be late. Or, at least, later than they already were (dressing a toddler and a baby was no sinecure, and while they both had decent practice at the tasks, it still took Steve chasing a naked Grant around the apartment twice before he could wrestle him into shorts and a shirt).

As the family boarded the elevator, Grant holding his daddy's hand and Iris in her carrier held by Mommy, Holly glanced up at her husband, recalling a little bit of advice he'd given her before another party years ago.

"Ready?" she whispered, the corner of her mouth curling as he nodded at her. Raising her chin, she proclaimed, "Head up, show no fear."

Steve barely stifled a derisive laugh, and Grant glanced up curiously at his parents.

"Wha', Mama?" he inquired, wanting his mother to explain. Holly canted her head, smiling down at him.

"Just have fun, buddy, okay?" she told him, just as the elevator opened. Stepping out, the family made their way down the hall to the open lounge area, which had been transformed with red, white, and blue decorations. Bunting was decorating the upper walkway and staircases, the bar along the back wall similarly decked out. A good number of people were there already, drinks taken and filching treats from the myriad bowls and platters set out amidst the space. It was, however, the sight of toy boxes and children that drew the eye. Instead of being asked to secure babysitters for a Stark party, the guests were encouraged to bring their offspring with them. Holly had no doubt that Tony had amended the general rule for the sake of their boy, as well as his own private reasons now. Her son was now practically vibrating, jerking his hand out of his father's and nearly dancing on the spot.

"Yeah!" Grant cried, charging forward, his little legs pumping fast to bring him over to the children gathered around the toy bins.

"Be good!" Holly cried after him, her child not even turning his head to acknowledge her words. Steve chuckled under his breath, taking his wife's free hand in his.

"I think he stopped listening at some point there."

She snorted audibly, rolling her eyes. "No kidding."

With their boy thoroughly occupied, and keeping one eye on him as they moved, Steve and Holly found a place to put the baby carrier, Iris being passed around as they were introduced to some of the party attendants. Wanda and Scott hovered along the fringes of the bash, taking the opportunity to relax into the next few weeks of their freedom. The Scarlet Witch was quiet, though she did manage a smile for her ex-commander and his wife; the death of the Vision was hitting her hard, so much so that she was considering moving to London. Transfer papers would be processed after the holiday, and she wished to be near her brother as she allowed herself to grieve and mourn. Scott's daughter Cassie had mixed with the other children, taking Grant in hand and becoming something of his protector and guardian as the adults mingled. Dr. Strange was away, retreating to his sanctuary, and Peter Parker had chosen to take the runaway kids to hang out in Queens for the day.

Patriotic music churned in the background, classic rock standards thrown into the mix, and the festivities wound into the late afternoon. Another round of food—the catering company responsible for breakfast was serving the whole event—was put out, the guests devouring all and enjoying the luxurious surroundings. As his wife was in the midst of telling Holly of the efforts made during the battles, Tony absented himself from her side, instead finding the erstwhile commander seated on one of the couches.

"Pretty good turn-out, wouldn't you say?" Tony prompted him, taking the open seat beside him on the couch. The two men were nursing glasses of whiskey, broken out in honor of Steve's birthday and passed around the inner circle. The blond man nodded, swishing the amber liquid remaining around in his cup.

"Yeah. Though it feels more like a send-off than anything else," he remarked, lifting a significant eyebrow at his friend. Stark met the blatant raise with one of his own, before he coughed and shrugged a shoulder.

"Well…that might be because it is, in a way," he said, all but confirming Steve's suspicions. Rogers had supposed that, once Pepper's pregnancy became public, Tony would consider stepping away from the fray permanently. Evidently, he was correct. Dark eyes focused on his glass as Tony continued, "Some of us are getting too old for the superhero thing. Some of us have…other responsibilities to take care of."

The corner of Steve's mouth curved. "Joyful ones, I hope."

Stark met his gaze again, a slow and careful grin pulling at his lips. "Yeah, I think they will be. I'll stick around under the new recruits are chosen. Help whip them into shape. That should take me through until October, help stagger the retirements that way."

"You can brag that you stuck with it longer than me."

"Nah, you still have sixty-some years on me, despite the frozen inactivity."

The two fellow shared a chuckle at that, and then Steve raised his glass in a salute.

"Back to being Tony Stark," he stated, waiting as Tony lifted his glass and tapped it against his. "May the next eighteen years of your life be as entertaining as the first."

"Thanks. Same to you," the billionaire returned, nodding to where Holly was holding Iris, the infant cooed at by the ring of mothers circling her. Looking back at the blond man beside him, he swallowed a sip of his whiskey and wondered, "What will you do now? That pension they're doling out won't last forever, and I doubt Holly wants to be known as your sugar momma. Plus, y'know, boredom."

Steve considered his friend's inquiry, pondering what to tell him. It was true that the Avengers was providing him with a pension, allowing the family enough to more than get by, and Holly's salary would continue along with the royalties from her novels. However, he did have a plan in the works to combat the potential lack of activity that would be in his life now, as well as continuing to provide for his children and wife.

"Well, there's still the school," Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink slowly. The tech genius let his eyebrow incline and a scoff shot out, though it wasn't unkind.

"You don't have training, Steve. Hell, you don't have anything beyond your high school degree."

"Maybe not," Steve conceded, a strange gleam coming into his eye. "But that can be changed. Could probably get into one of those online universities without too much difficulty."

Stark stared at him, the curve of his grin unmistakeable. "Which you already did."

Steve broke into a full smile then, and revealed the plans in full. "I'm taking courses in the fall, and until then I'll be studying. Well, in between watching the kids and taking on after-school activity hours for the Academy. Three days a week, hosting free art periods, until I can get the time and hours to become a real instructor."

As the decision to have him hosting the art periods had just been processed, Tony had not heard about it yet. Blowing out a low whistle, he could not resist throwing out a jibe.

"Didn't want to be a history teacher?" he asked, not shocked when Steve snorted.

"They say to stick with what you know, and art is something I know a thing or two about." He leaned back in his seat, and his focus was drawn to one of the windowed walls. A sort of calm smoothed over his face, and he let out a sigh. "It'll be good."

The sudden pattering of feet caught their attention then, Holly nearly flying to them with her phone in her outstretched hand.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" she crowed, thrusting the device under her husband's nose. "Look at this!"

Steve and Tony shared a fast look, the captain taking the phone from Holly and looking at the picture that had been sent to her. In it, Sam Wilson was holding his girlfriend, Kay, one of the large fountains in front of a hotel behind them. It was common knowledge among their circle that Wilson and Kay were intent on getting some time away from everything, and that they had taken Barnes and Romanoff for the ride. They had arrived safely in Las Vegas, and that was the last anyone had heard until they sent the picture.

However, it wasn't that he was merely holding her. The choice of white for their clothing, the prominent display of their beringed left hands at the center of the shot, drew the focus, and the two men staring at felt their eyes widen in total surprise.

"Huh, Wilson finally got up the cajones to get hitched," Tony muttered. Glancing up, he spotted Pepper coming to his side, little Iris in her arms and a look in her eyes. As his heart did little flip-flops at the sight, he cleared his throat and answered her look with a nod. "Yes, dear, I'm aware I don't have any right to say it. Still did, anyway."

Pepper let a laugh pour of her then, and Steve shook his head, handing the device back to his wife. Holly could only let out a happy sigh, sitting herself down on the arm of the sofa. Suddenly, her eyes widened again, and she blinked down at the furrow on her husband's brow.

"Buck and Nat are with them…" she muttered, unable to continue the thought as her phone vibrated in her hand. Looking down at it, she went on, "Oh, and here's a message from the lady herself."

Reading it to herself at first, she hastily clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in a barking laugh. Shaking his head, Steve gestured for her to hand him the phone again, and when she did, he could see why she'd nearly been unable to hold back the humor.

"'JUST Sam and Kay married. Not happening this trip,'" he announced, relaying Natasha's message to their other friends. Well, that certainly halted his wife's conjectures for the moment.

"Implying that it might take another," Pepper pointed out cheerfully, grinning as the others digested that thought. Tony, though, took a final gulp of his whiskey and coughed.

"It might take a lifetime." Taking in the returning look Pepper was donning, Tony held up a stalling palm. "Again, I know."

The news of the Wilson wedding, though it had come through at the party, was kept to the small group, Wanda and Scott told after some of the speculative glances that had been garnered by Holly's rapid flight through the room had been directed elsewhere. The party continued to ebb and flow, new attendees coming and going as the afternoon began to morph into early evening. A chorus of "Yankee Doodle" was crooned by the children, a veritable parade marching around the captain as they were led by Scott and some red and blue streamers were wound around the blond man, the other party-goers delighting in the fun being had. Soon enough, night was almost upon them, and the final events were to be had. However, not everyone could make it through to that point, and departures were inevitable.

Such was the case for Iris and Grant, the two of them far too young to stay up for the fireworks Uncle Tony had been promising all day. Holly, understanding that her children were entirely too close to falling asleep where they were, had volunteered to bring them away, and Steve followed them to the elevator embankment, holding out his hands imploringly.

"Honey, we can both go, I don't have to—" he started, stopping when Holly finished placing Iris in her carrier and laying a palm on his shoulder.

"Steve, it's okay. Putting them both to bed is not a big deal," she said, giving him a tired smile. Squeezing his arm, she continued, "Stay; this is your birthday, after all. Besides, you can't disappoint Tony by cutting out too early."

Steve looked a tad disheartened by the idea, but he simply shook his head.

"Of course not. But, I…" he let the sentence trail away, the softening of his voice and the lessening of the surety in his gaze saying more than words could. She cupped his cheek in her palm then, tenderly stroking the skin with her thumb.

"It'll be okay," she whispered, flicking her glance over to where the stand housing the fireworks stood. Tony had taken her aside earlier, as she had raised her own misgivings about exposing her veteran husband to even controlled explosives, and he had promised her that he'd taken care of it. Trusting him to do so—as he had his own anxiety issues to deal with—she hastened to reassure Steve with that as well. Still, if it did become overwhelming, he deserved to have a bit of comfort. "You know where to find me, after."

Slowly, Steve nodded, a half-smile pulling at his lips. "Alright, doll."

Dipping her chin, she took her son in her arms, hoisting him up. "Say night-night to Daddy, Grant."

Immediately, the boy turned to his father, arms going wide and a giant smile on his face. Steve took him from her, holding Grant in a tight hug as the little guy pecked his cheek.

"Night-night, Daddy. 'Ove you," he said, patting his face when he was finished. Unable to contain his own grin, Steve pecked his boy's hair.

"Love you, too, little man," he replied, lowering Grant to the floor. Kneeling down beside the carrier, he reached into it, picking up Iris as well. "C'mere, sweet pea. Love you."

A smacking kiss was planted on his daughter's cheek, the smell of baby powder and milk clinging to her even as she settled back into her seat. Standing tall again, Steve took one more kiss, a light one from Holly.

"Be good," she admonished him teasingly, shooting him a wink. Smirking at her, he clicked his tongue as he stepped back.

"No promises."

She chuckled, taking the handle of the baby carrier in one hand and Grant's little fingers pressing into her other, the family turning and heading back toward the elevators. Steve watched them go, hands on his hips and a sigh crawling out of his nose. A few taps bounced off his arm, and he pivoted just as Tony flapped his hand, bidding him to step forward. It was time, time for the fireworks display, and as they were done in his honor, he couldn't delay any further. However, just before the first lighter was touched to the spool, Tony commanded JJ to initiate something he called the 'silencer.' Before any questions could be asked, a round dome of filaments and nearly-invisible wires cast over the gathered people on the outer deck. A spark and crackle of electricity, and then a thin film was projected from one connecting point to another, crawling outward until it sealed along the floor. Once it was in place, Stark nodded to the fireworks fellows, the first round send up as the prelude to the city's display. Instead of a loud, echoing boom that would make Steve jump out of his skin and send him back in a wave of unpleasant memories, nothing but a distant pop was heard. Astonished at the gesture his friend had managed to erect in the short time they'd all been home, the blond man stared at the billionaire, his jaw dropping. The darker-haired man said nothing, instead smirking widely and nodding up as another rocket was launched. For the first time in years, Steve was able to enjoy fireworks without being lost in sorrows, drenched in fear as the worst of his past was relived in his mind. The darkness of the night was blotted out as a giant star decorated the sky, followed by an S and R. The number 100 was the last, and the crowd around him cheered, back pats and clasping hands barely registering as the city began to attend to its own fireworks, the muted sounds fading as they all went back inside. Though a good number of the children had fallen asleep, the adults availed themselves of the giant, commissioned cake, a single star on a field of blue proclaiming it to be a happy 100th birthday for Steve. Only one candle was lit, and after the obligatory song was sung, the pieces were cut and dished out.

The happiness filling his heart stalled, though, as Steve instinctively glanced to the side. Pepper, spying it, set about a quick task, loading up three pieces of cake on a plate and taking him to one side, as though she wished to speak with him alone. Once they'd gone out of sight, she nodded to the elevator, promising to cover for him. Thanking her with a wide grin and a nod, the bigger man stepped away, going back down to the apartment allotted to him swiftly.

The rooms were quiet as he passed through the front door, the bright lights of the city casting a glow around the living room. A single lamp was on, and the easy chair had been pulled over to the windowed wall. Spotting the brunette head over the back of the chair, he crept forward, setting the cake upon the coffee table and clearing his throat. A muted gasp came, and Holly turned in her seat, her shock morphing into the easy smile he adored so much.

"Hey, saw the last bits from the window, looked neat," she said quietly, her arms noticeably moving then. Coming up to her side, Steve flicked a fast look at the corgi in her lap, Bonnie having taken refuge with her as the fireworks went on. Shrugging once, she spoke as he directed his gaze onto her, wistfulness in her expression. "Grant tried to stay up and watch, but he was out before the first rocket could launch. Iris managed to go down after getting a bit of formula, but she'll probably…what?"

Her question jarred him out of his reverie, pulled him out of gazing upon his beloved wife's face, and he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Dance with me?" he asked, offering her his hand. A bright grin lit up her eyes as she nodded, setting the dog upon the floor and threading her fingers with his.

"Sure."

Prompting JJ to play some music, Steve began to sway Holly to the beat, the old tune one of his favorites from back in the day. As the piece went on and the circled around, he drew up her arms to link around his neck, his own wrapping around her waist. Foreheads braced against one another, and Steve Rogers held his wife, his children well and safe down the hall and their dog napping nearby. Secure in the knowledge that he had them, had what he dared not dream of years ago, he found himself thanking God for it all, good and bad. For through every experience, he had them now, had Holly, and he wouldn't leave them or let them go.

Never again.

* * *

 **A/N:** And just like that, it's finished. Thor is back on Asgard, the Guardians are out in the galaxy, Adam is searching for answers, Loki is joyriding in his stolen ship, the Avengers teams are preparing for the future...and Steve and Holly have one more dance before closing out his birthday. A good note to end on, I think.

This is…overwhelming, to think that this series is officially over. Nearly three years of my life has been spent in the world of Holly and Steve (Stolly, and bless whoever it was who originally suggested that ship name). Three years of sweat and tears—no blood, not in the physical sense at least—of taking the wonderful universe that Marvel has set up and created, and playing in it. It's tough to say good-bye, but ultimately, I believe it is the right thing to do. In this universe, with the exception of a few parts, there is happiness, and there is hope for the future. Something I don't think a good majority of the Avengers will ever truly get to experience, and definitely not Steven Grant Rogers. It has been a journey, an absolute delight amidst the frustrations, and I am just entirely grateful.

I appreciate every. Single. One of you who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or simply just read the stories for this series. The support and help you have all given me, along with the bits of praise, are things that I will be eternally grateful for, and remind me of why I adore this community so much. I will name off some great supporters, but if you're not listed, believe me, you are in my heart and your contribution is no less in my eyes.

Thank you so much: _**OkamiPrincess**_ , _ **TheVoicelessRomantic, Momochan77, supesfan18, holsvick, Semper Paratus, heroherondaletotherescue, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Goldenfightergirl, pulchritudo in omnia, brandibuckeye, untilmynextstory, OctoberOpal, Captain Dorito, WinchesterDixonBros, inperfection, KnowInsight, DarylDixon'sLover, BuckyBarnes07, Anasazi Darkmoon**_ , anonymous reviewer _**Jo**_ , and many, MANY, others. You have all challenged me, given me great advice and suggestions, and stuck with me through this journey. Some of you have done so since the very beginning, and that just astounds me as much as it pleases me. I hope that, in the end, I did this justice in your eyes. Again, if I did not name you specifically, believe me, I still appreciate and am grateful for you as well.

Do I intend for this to be an end of Steve and Holly? No, certainly not. I still have _Down the Hall_ in progress, as well as another AU story in mind for the future. The _Of Time_ series will occasionally be added to with one-shots. However, the main series is truly, actually, over. As well as that, I have also finished a final sexytime one-shot for them over on AO3, titled _At Ease_. You can find it over there, and read if you're of the proper age and maturity for it.

And with that, I say, farewell.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all next time!


End file.
